Grey's Anatomy Season 5 and a Half
by InTheBetween
Summary: These stories are a continuation of Season 5, written in turn by 5 writers in this order: BNScrubNurse, HopeCrowe, AngelaMermaid, Shli, and Ohcyfan. They will be released each Thursday at the same time as the show airs. We hope you all enjoy!
1. Where We Gonna Go from Here

Author: BNScrubNurse

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_Life happens in moments. Some moments we spend our entire lives waiting for- birthdays, graduations, weddings. We spend our life living for those moments, waiting for those moments. The moments we have planned. Most moments though, are the ones that we didn't plan- the ones that we never saw coming. It's those moments that leave us breathless with an ache in our heart and tears in our eyes and asking ourselves what the hell we're supposed to do now. _

It's funny, the things that a person notices in a hospital room when they're on the other side of it. The neon green line on the monitor rose slightly as sterile air was forced into a partially collapsed lung and fell again. The eroded edge of an electrode seemed to free itself from a patch of badly bruised skin with each harsh breath. A red glow emitted from a swollen finger that could be likened to a sausage rather than a human digit. Yellow fluid seeped through pristine white gauze, leaving an ugly ring, yet another ugly reminder that the patient was falling apart.

Owen wondered how many more times they could put him together before he finally fell apart for good.

Rubbing his hands over his face, he heaved a great sigh. His elbows came to rest at his knees and he hunched over, trying to gather his thoughts. It had been a long time since Owen had tried to convince himself that positive thinking alone could get anybody through a tough time. That combined with medicine could save a life, no matter how dire the situation.

That was what he'd believed before- and maybe he was there. Maybe he was _almost_ there, so close that he could taste it, so close that he could feel what freedom was again. He could _almost_ breathe again.

The thinking should be there.

He should be believing that O'Malley could pull through this rather than wondering how long it would be before the inevitable came.

Slowly, his eyes trailed to the motionless figure in front of him- an unrecognizable version of his newfound protégé- up to the clock. Cristina would certainly be off shift by now. He wondered if she'd heard about George, that his life was in such a balance.

Owen knew that Cristina didn't care much for him, but he knew the bond between the five interns. It wasn't unlike that of a unit in the army- tough, loyal, always facing the unknown. They didn't always care for each other and sometimes it almost unbearable to be crammed into the same space for days at a time- but they were family. No matter what, they fought for their family.

Again, Owen reached up to rub his eyes. He felt his mind being pulled in a million different directions and he knew that it was worry mixed with a unhealthy serving of exhaustion. At some point, he would have to leave O'Malley and get some rest.

He just couldn't.

Not yet.

His eyes darted around the room again and he sought out anything to keep him awake, to keep his mind going. As if on cue, they found Cristina, standing just outside the sliding glass door to the tiny room he'd exiled himself too.

Her expression was one that he'd never seen before.

Cristina stood motionless, her arms wrapped around her petite frame, ceil scrubs bunched at her waist. Her eyes were empty, darkness surrounded by red rims. The lips that he loved so much were turned downward- not in a scowl or a look of discontentment, but- he couldn't place the word. It wasn't even a frown.

She almost looked as if she had lost all hope, defeated.

Owen couldn't imagine Cristina Yang ever being defeated, but he was pretty sure that he was seeing it.

When she stepped inside, he could see sadness weighing down her shoulders and bending her normally proud posture. She cleared her throat a little, looking at the monitors. "George?" She asked, her voice wavering.

He gave a slight nod, unmoving.

Cristina looked at the figure on the bed, trying to see some semblance of her colleague but she couldn't find one. He was wrecked. The next thing she sought out in the room was the monitor, followed by the multiple medications hanging at his side and then the ventilator. Her mind was whirring, analyzing each number and then matching it against the other newly obtained information.

She could diagnose him without asking a word.

The prognosis was not good.

"He's a fighter." Owen finally said, drawing her eyes to meet his. "O'Malley is. It looks bad, but he can do this. He's already done a lot today."

Her lips parted to answer, but then she pressed them closed again. The answer she had was one that shouldn't be said aloud. Especially not today of all days, not after everything that had happened. Instead, she walked across the room and sunk into the chair next to Owen. Keeping her eyes fixated on George, she felt the precarious grip on her emotions slipping away, the last piece of her control shattering and fading away.

Tears were not shed, and there were no stifled sobs. Instead, Cristina's moved from the middle of her lap slowly until it was on his, finding his hand. She wove her fingers with his, held tightly as if she could somehow siphon strength from him. Her airway constricted slightly and she looked down, clearing her throat again.

Owen knew exactly what she needed to hear. "He's acidotic. His pH was 7.19, bicarb was in the toilet. They're doing normal saline with 2 amps of bicarb and running it in at 175 an hour. Despite all of the crush injuries, his kidneys seem to be in working fashion. His hourly output is amazing all things considered. His renal function should be failing, should have failed by now."

"The labs are within normal limits?" Cristina uttered quietly, looking again at the drips. She knew that he was acidotic by the bicarb, but talking about it was easier than thinking the things she was. "He's hypotensive."

He nodded, "On levophed and neosynephrine. They tried dopamine at first, but he was already tachycardic-"

"Which launched him into a tachyarrhythmia. Probably V-tach, judging by the lidocaine drip and the amiodarone." Cristina finished, nodding towards another set of IV pumps. "Dual central lines?"

"There wasn't much of a choice. Too many incompatible medications and the road rash on his arms make it difficult to keep a bioocclusive dressing in place over a peripheral site with the continuous oozing."

Cristina nodded again, "The nurses better do proper dressing changes on those lines. If he ends up septic because of a line infection, it will be their asses."

Owen squeezed her hand gently, "Cristina. If he ends up septic it will have nothing to do with the lines."

She knew it, but it was easier to blame it on incompetent nurses rather than reality. Reality was too hard today. Closing her eyes she let out a deep breath, but it didn't seem to relieve the pressure in her chest at all.

"It's a lot to take in. Seeing your friends like this." He murmured, looking at her. Owen wanted her to know that he understood.

"It's a lot to take in when your friends die." She answered back in a voice just above a whisper. Cristina was pretty sure that George couldn't hear them, but in case he could she didn't want to say anything too loudly.

"He's not dead yet, Cristina. Don't give up on him yet." Owen chided softly.

The realization struck her in that moment that Owen didn't know. He'd been in the room all day with O'Malley and he had no clue. She shook her head slightly, a pathetic laugh coming from her lips. Because she didn't have to deliver the bad news to enough people, she had to tell him too.

Cristina had to tell him that they had already lost one of their own. That George wasn't going to be the first casualty of the day that Seattle Grace had suffered.

It's not like he _cared_ about Izzie- like they were best friends. To Owen, Izzie's story was little more than a tragedy that had hit far too close to home. It's the bittersweet story that brings a tear to everybody's eye.

She was still a colleague though.

"I know that he isn't." She finally spoke, her voice low. "I was talking about Izzie."

Saying her name felt like a million needles in her mouth, scraping at flesh and tearing tissue away. It burned and ached and caused bile to rise up in the back of her throat and eat away at whatever was left of her. Cristina could still feel the pressure of Izzie's ribs cracking beneath her palms with each compression, feel her body growing colder.

The image of Izzie's lifeless eyes would forever be ingrained in her memory.

Owen didn't need to clarify, he could see the answers in her eyes. Letting go of her hand, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. It did not go unnoticed by him that her body wasn't shaking and that there were no tears- he knew now that the expression etched into her beautiful face was because she'd been crying.

There were no tears left.

"You should go home," He murmured into her hair, his hand stroking her back gently. "You need to rest. It's been a long day."

She shook her head against his chest, turning so that she could look at the monitors again. "I don't want to go anywhere. Not right now."

With a slight nod, he let his arms slide from around her body and resumed holding her hand. "We can sit with him. Make sure he stays where he is."

Her answer was a hollow agreement, but he knew it was probably better than any alternatives. If the things that had been said of Meredith were true, he preferred that Cristina were here with him rather than drowning her sorrows in a bottle of liquor with her friends.

Alcohol wasn't going to numb the kind of pain that they felt right now- only intensify it. He knew that from experience.

They sat together through the night, neither leaving for more than a few moments to get a drink or use the bathroom. Their hands remained firmly pressed together, a sheen layer of moisture forming between their palms.

Hands were more tangible than hope, and they each needed to hold onto something.

In any other city, seven am would have brought singing birds and a glowing sunrise. In Seattle it brought dark gray skies, reflecting only a portion of the emotion building within the four walls of the hospital. Rain flowed down the windows, one droplet colliding into another and then another until their weight carried them into the windowsill, shattering their short-lived unity.

Cristina's eyelids were heavy, but she didn't close them for fear that the next time she opened them it would be to see nurses rushing in with code carts or a flat line on the monitor screen. The sound of the door to George's room sliding open caused her to lift her head from Owen's shoulder and look up.

"The ICU nurses tell me that the two of you have been in here all night." Webber spoke, his voice as authoritarian as ever despite recent circumstances.

"Yes sir." Owen answered, straightening out a little bit.

"Were you caring for him? Working?" He continued, eyeing Cristina. Her presence wasn't a surprise to him in the least. Cristina Yang wasn't nearly as cold as most people thought and if anybody knew that, it was him. He'd seen her in her weakest moments, he knew that there was a soft side that unintentionally came out in times of high emotional stress.

"No sir," Owen answered again with a slight shake of his head.

"Yang?"

Cristina shook her head, "Nobody was here. With him. So we stayed. To make sure that everyt-"

"The ICU has visiting policies. Those policies don't include staying in a patient's room overnight. No exceptions." He interrupted. "The two of you need to leave. Get cleaned up. If you want to visit with Dr. O'Malley, you'll do it per hospital policy. Am I clear?"

Despite the fact that Owen didn't like it, he gave a slight nod once more and stood up. He raised his brow at Cristina's incredulous glance and then gestured towards the door. A slight smirk rose on his lips at the expression of indignity towards him, but he remained silent.

Sometimes he wondered if everybody realized that the world was Cristina's and that they were merely inhabitants. He loved that way about her though, even in duress like this, he could appreciate it. His hand rested just above her elbow as they walked from the room, their gait slowing as their senses were assaulted all at once.

George's room had been a vacuum- quiet outside of the whirring of the ventilator and the random beeps of the IV pumps going off, needing a new dose of medication or a new bag of fluids hung, the sound of their own breathing.

Now, there were bright lights overhead, causing them to squint. The sound of crackly alarms emitting from ancient speakers by the monitor droned- alarming nurses to the presence of a low blood pressure or a dangerous heart rhythm. People bustled around and orders were called out, family members talking on the phone- crying and emotional over Uncle Jim's heart and needing a bypass.

They weren't safe anymore. They were in reality.

As they walked the halls together, Owen felt an overwhelming urge to keep his eyes downcast. He'd been blamed for O'Malley enlisting- though _he_ knew it wasn't rational to blame him for those things some of his colleagues did not. Some of his colleagues could go as far as to say that it was his responsibility that O'Malley was in the state that he was now because of Owen.

And maybe it was the exhaustion but Owen couldn't help but feel some sort of guilt for it.

Cristina's fingers curled into tight fists, jammed into the pocket of her wrinkled labcoat. As they passed each face, each intern in the hallway towards the surgical wing she realized that none of them would ever belong to Izzie Stevens ever again.

There wouldn't be the smell of fresh baked muffins lingering in the resident locker room. Her annoyingly perfect blond ponytail wouldn't be bouncing down the hallway in front of her. That ridiculously bright smile would no longer taunt her at five in the morning.

She was dead. Gone.

Izzie wasn't coming back.

The harshness of the sudden changes inside the world in Seattle Grace slowed their gaits as they entered the surgical unit and found the board to be empty with the exception of one appendectomy. Their colleagues had gathered, all weary and red-eyed- each affected by the events of the prior day in their own way.

They had all sought sanctuary in the one thing they knew- surgery, only to find that it had abandoned them in their time of need.

For countless minutes, hours they lingered- hoping for a tragedy to pull them out of the encroaching darkness and numb their pain. The irony was not lost on any of them either- hoping for another's pain so that they could feel something other than their own sorrows for a few fleeting hours.

When it had become painfully clear that the hospital was engaged in one of its few slow days of the year, they broke off piece by piece and went their separate ways with few words.

There wasn't anything left to say, because it had already been said ad nauseam.

After shedding the scrubs she'd worn for well over twenty four hours, Cristina stepped out of the locker room to find Owen still there and waiting for her. They walked the long hallways together towards the lobby, her hand brushing softly against his from time to time. She wasn't _that_ girl, the cutesy one who wanted to hold hands and put on public displays of affection.

Cristina wasn't even the girl comforted by physical contact. Except for right now- for some reason, she had needed it, however short or insignificant. She found herself wondering if it was because she needed to touch him, to feel his skin hot against hers just to remember she was alive, that he was alive because everything else felt dead.

When they reached the lobby doors, they paused and looked at each other. Neither wanted to go home alone, neither wanted to lay in a bed by themselves, surrounded by the stormy Seattle weather and left to drown in their own thoughts.

Neither could forget that the last time that they'd shared a bed it resulted in his hands being wrapped around her neck, even if he was better, even if there was love. How could they be sure that it was safe?

How could he promise that he wouldn't hurt her when he didn't know for sure that the nightmares were gone for good? Owen wanted nothing more than to go home with her, to wrap her up in his arms and fall asleep next to her knowing that she was with him and whole.

He didn't even know if _he_ was whole.

Their gazes remained fixed, trying to find a way to answer questions unasked. They'd been told to go home, to rest- they'd been given directions, they knew their ways home.

Yet, they both felt lost.

_All those who wander are not lost-_ _I can't remember who said it, but I think that he had a map. Life is confusing and the directions never stop changing. All it takes is one moment to change a path completely. The question is- do we stop moving or do we keep going forward into the unknown?_


	2. Spend the Night

Author: HopeCrowe

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_We all remember what it was like as children, when nothing seemed scarier than laying awake and alone in a dark bedroom. Something about that darkness, the fact that you can't see past your own fingertips—it unsettles us. We want to know what's out there. We want to be able to prepare ourselves so we can face it head-on. But in life, most of the time we have no way of knowing or preparing, and so the dark of night is just another painful reminder of just how little we can control, just how little we can actually do…_

"Wish it wasn't so cloudy here all the time…" Owen said, tilting his head up to the sky. They were standing just outside the hospital doors after the Chief had kicked them out moments ago. Cristina couldn't help but roll her eyes at his cliché use of the weather as a means of avoiding discussion of one of the several more important things going on at the moment. She opened her mouth to say something—not entirely sure what—when Owen spoke again. "I'll walk you home—it's late". Cristina knew part of the reason for his offer, aside from his usual chivalric tendencies, was to buy time for both of them to think and delay the decision of where he would be sleeping tonight. She bit lightly on her lower lip and started walking with him. They were both silent but in such deep thought that Cristina could practically hear the whirr of the wheels spinning in their heads.

Once they had reached her doorstep, she took a deep breath. Despite all her thinking, she still found herself unsure of what she wanted to happen next. Well, that wasn't true…she knew exactly what she _wanted_ but it went against her better judgment. Cristina decided to get to the point, as she was not one to mince words.

"Do you want to come up?" She made a concerted effort to keep her voice even, yet she heard it betray a twinge of sadness. She had said yes and they were together now—this type of question shouldn't hold such a heavy undertone. Owen let out a deep breath and hung his head.

"I want to," Owen began "but I don't know if I should yet. But at the same time I don't think I should leave you alone tonight. I don't…it's up to you." Cristina looked into Owen's eyes, they were pleading with her. She knew the look was involuntary, but the longing in it was paining her. He clearly wanted to be with her tonight as much as she wanted him to be there. Izzie was dead. George was well on his way to joining her. She needed Owen with her tonight, even if that might mean she couldn't sleep. With people around her dropping like flies, knowing that he was safe and with her was the most important thing to her at the moment.

She reached for his hand and pulled him up the stairs to her building door. They continued further up some stairs and down the hallway to her apartment. Cristina could feel the discomfort emanating from his body. He hadn't been inside her apartment since the incident. She unlocked the door and walked in. Cristina threw her keys on the counter and walked into the kitchen to grab some water when she noticed Owen still standing somewhat paralyzed in her doorway.

"Go on, take your jacket off" she said before taking a sip from her bottle. He cleared his throat as he neatly folded his jacket and draped it over a chair. He shoved his hands into his pockets, as if willing them to behave this time around. "You want something to eat? I have…um, diet coke?" Owen laughed and Cristina felt her heart lighten upon hearing the comforting sound. "Well, Callie has some leftover Chicken Piccata…"

"I'm not really hungry…maybe I'll just sit here for a bit." Owen sat back on the couch with a tired sigh and took off his shoes. He lay back against the armrest and after a few more sips of water she walked over to join him. Cristina fitted herself between his legs and leaned back. Within minutes, both of them were fighting to keep their eyes open. They were both convincing themselves that it was better to stay on the couch where they could avoid facing the bed that bore witness to the darkest moment of their relationship. Owen was trying to focus his attention on one of Cristina's curls to keep himself awake; when he noteiced that her eyes were drooping, he decided enough was enough. Cristina was so tired in so many ways and she needed sleep.

He brushed his hand down her arm and gave her a kiss on her neck that tickled her into a tired smile.

"You need sleep," he said simply.

"I'm a resident. If I needed sleep I never would have made it past my intern year."

"You can barely keep your eyes open," he persisted. Cristina sighed and rubbed her hand on his thigh.

"Okay, so maybe I'm a little tired. But I'm…I really don't want to leave you just yet" she mumbled, diverting her eyes to his knee.

"You don't know how much I wish that I could…you know, go in there and sleep next to you," Owen started, placing one of his hands on top of hers. "But I can't do that until I'm absolutely sure you'd be safe."

"And when will that be? I mean, can you _ever_ be sure?" Cristina asked, unable to keep the frustration out of her voice. Her question lingered in the air as Owen turned and looked at the darkness consuming her bedroom at the moment. It was a fair question, but his answer was too painful to vocalize. He might never know.

"I can stay with you until you fall asleep," he offered. Cristina leaned her head back onto his shoulder and nuzzled into the side of his neck.

"Okay." It was remarkable how she could have such conflicting emotions simultaneously. She was frustrated with Owen for having the control to do what was right but at the same time she was so grateful that he cared enough to do it. To make some of the harder choices for them when the smell of his skin and brush of his beard had the power to incapacitate her rationality. This was infuriating to someone that prided herself on her pragmatism and yet it was a loss of control that was intoxicating.

After a few minutes of preparing for bed, Cristina crawled under her covers. Owen walked by her bedroom door; she heard him knock lightly on the door and peek into Callie's room.

"Is Dr. Torres not here tonight?"

"No, she's on-call…I think she swapped with someone because wanted to be at the hospital in case something happened to George. Did you know they were married?"

"I didn't…" Owen replied, although he sounded distracted and as Cristina was applying lotion to her hands, she saw Owen walk back past her door again and into the kitchen.

"I brought water already," Cristina called out to him.

"That's not what I'm getting" he said quietly. Cristina heard some clanging in the kitchen and then saw that Owen had walked back into her room with one hand rubbing the back of his neck and the other carrying a frying pan. Cristina stopped moving her hands and looked up at him.

"I thought you weren't hungry" she said, raising an eyebrow. Owen just cleared his throat.

"I'm not…" he walked over to his side of the bed and placed the frying pan between them. Cristina's eyes followed him wordlessly, waiting for him to explain.

"Well?" she prompted finally. He looked down at his hands for a minute, apparently having difficulty forming the right words. "Unless this frying pan is somehow a sex toy, I don't want it on my bed. It's gross."

"It would take quite a bit of creativity to make that a sex toy…" Cristina gave a small shrug and quirked an eyebrow as if to say she was up for the challenge. After a small laugh, the silence of the room forced Owen to answer seriously. "It's for you…just in case," he said, avoiding her eyes after pulling his shirt off over his head. "I mean…because this time even Dr. Torres isn't here …"

"Owen…I'm not going to hit you over the head with Callie's frying pan."

"Well, hopefully not." he smiled ruefully. "But can you promise me that you'll use it if…if you have to?"

"I…"

"Please, Cristina?" The pleading and residual shame in his voice made her chest tighten. She eyed the pan and turned to look at her nightstand.

"It can stay in the room, but I don't want it on my bed…" she said, stubbornly. "You can put it on my nightstand"

"But you're nightstand—" Owen stopped himself, pausing to gain control as frustration had been creeping into his voice. "But you're nightstand isn't close enough."

"Well, those muscles aren't just decorative, are they? You could move it closer or something…"

"You _know_ they aren't just decorative" he said huskily, smirking in spite of the situation and getting up to move the table closer to her side of the bed. Cristina grinned at him once he had and placed the frying pan next to her alarm clock.

"See? I can be reasonable."

"Don't make it a habit," he replied, pulling her lips to his. He sighed at the familiar taste of her mouth and the way she made of habit of grabbing the back of neck and playing with his hair while she kissed him. They pulled apart and Owen gave her another grin. "I definitely didn't fall in love with you because you were reasonable." He crawled over her and onto the far side of the bed. Owen adjusted his pillow and then turned the light off and they both lay back. Owen cleared his throat. "Does um…does this feel okay?"

"Yeah…" Cristina said, still trying to find a spot that was comfortable. The two of them kept shifting slightly. Their easy playful banter had made an ugly transition into an awkward physical situation. "Does this work?"

"Maybe if you twisted a little that way?"

"Here, put your arm over there."

"If your head is here, then I can put my shoulder like this."

They finally both stopped shifting and for almost fifteen minutes they just lay awake in silence. Both had their eyes wide open, but somehow Owen clung to the hope that Cristina might fall asleep. She couldn't. Owen's cell phone started ringing and Cristina found herself saddened by the relief she felt when it did.

"I should get this…we're monitoring this patient and…anyway, I'll be out in the living room for a minute."

"Okay." Cristina managed, sinking back into her pillow and sighing when finding a comfortable angle.

Owen returned to her dark room minutes later, but as he crept across the room he heard a light snore coming from Cristina's side of the bed. Once his eyes readjusted, he looked at her through the darkness and realized that maybe she wasn't ready for this just yet even if she wanted to be. They wanted to be together, that's all that mattered. The rest would come with time—he would have to keep reminding himself that it would come eventually. After placing a light kiss on her cheek, he pulled his pillow from her bed and walked out of her room, closing the door behind him. He lay down on her couch and closed his eyes. After what he had done, sleeping on her couch was more than he could hope for.

~*~*~*~

Cristina woke up after hitting her alarm the next morning and for a few peaceful seconds everything felt normal. But her heart began to sink slowly with the waves of sad realizations that hit her: Izzie is dead, George is dying, Alex is a mess. She took a deep breath and then also remembered that Owen had come home with her that night. Cristina remembered asking him to stay with her until she slept, but the last thing she remembered was Owen leaving to take a phone call. Maybe he had left for home or the hospital…but she got out of bed in the hopes of finding him in the kitchen making breakfast or something. Because he would do that kind of thing. While walking through her living room, she saw a flash of auburn on her couch. She leaned over the back and saw Owen laying there with a pillow. Her eyes raked over him; his breathing was still even and his face was so calm that Cristina wished she could join him. Well, maybe she could.

She went around the couch and gave his big toe a slight wiggle. His foot reflexively pulled away from the stimulus, and his eyes fluttered open. Owen smiled at her and she crawled over him, settling herself on top of him. She relished in the light waves of warm breath hitting her forehead with each fall of his chest. She felt his arm find its way around her and she slowly let her eyes droop closed. Maybe she still wasn't ready to fall asleep next to Owen, but that didn't mean she couldn't close her eyes and enjoy a moment of peace with him. Especially since the way their lives had been lately, peace was getting harder and harder to come by.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked her, his hand rubbing her back lightly.

"I did…" she answered, feeling slightly guilty. "Did you?"

"I did, actually." he replied. "This couch is surprisingly comfortable".

"We should probably get ready…" Cristina said, but her body made no effort to comply.

"Are you sure you want to go in today?" Owen asked, his voice hoarse. He already knew the answer—but felt the need to ask anyway. She sighed for a moment and looked up at him, his eyes were still closed.

"I'm the best…I don't want to waste time moping around when I could be preventing something like this for someone else. I already have to miss time because of Izzie's funeral…and I want to check up on George" Cristina said, pushing herself off of him.

"Just a minute," he grumbled and pulled her back down towards him. "Let me soak this in for a second…" Her curls fell in his face and he lightly brushed a handful away. He pulled her face close and kissed her lips. "Morning light really suits you." Cristina wondered if waking up with Owen Hunt always came with such compliments. She had a feeling it did, but would she ever really get to enjoy them? Cristina's smile faded for a moment and she looked off to the side.

"I'm…sorry, I'm sorry I couldn't—" she started, but Owen quickly cut her off.

"Please don't apologize. Please." he said, stroking her cheek. "Your mind is still anxious because of what it remembers happening there…with me. It's just trying to protect you…"

"I know," she sighed, lying on across his stomach. "I wanted you here last night, I'm glad you stayed…"

"And I wanted to be as close to you as I trusted myself to be." They lay there in silence for a few moments until Cristina finally spoke again.

"You know what I think? I think that someday I'm going to be getting pissed at you for hogging all the covers or something. You seem like the cover-hogging type." Owen smiled to himself at her indirect way of expressing optimism about their relationship.

"Well, nobody is perfect," Owen said, putting his hands on Cristina's arms and smiling at her. "But right now, we have to get our asses off the couch and go to work. We can check on O'Malley before your shift starts…"

~*~*~*~

As they strode up to the hospital, Cristina took a deep breath. She knew someone would have paged her if George had taken a serious turn for the worse, but the fear that came with having to face the news of whatever happened to him overnight was making her anxious. Also she realized that this would be the first time she'd be walking into the hospital knowing Izzie never would again. There had been that brief time after Denny's death—but even then Cristina knew that Izzie was baking muffins or lying on the bathroom floor somewhere. She knew that Izzie would get put back together at some point, it was just a matter of time. She and Denny had known each other for such a short time, Cristina was sure it was just an infatuation…or some an extreme manifestation of Izzie's general aptitude for getting inappropriately close to patients. Then again, as she glanced at Owen walking next to her, Cristina thought that perhaps the brevity of a relationship may not exactly correlate to its intensity. She and Owen had only known each other for a few months and yet she knew it was anything but a silly infatuation. No, Cristina Yang would have been able to fight an infatuation, but this was different. She was absolutely in love with him even in spite of everything that had gotten in their way.

They continued walking toward George's room until Callie sped over to meet them.

"Dr. Torres." Owen nodded politely.

"Dr. Hunt." Callie appeared annoyed at the sight of Owen and her eyes flickered between the two of them suspiciously. However she quickly hung her head. It was then that Cristina took note of just how run-down Callie appeared; it was more than just the usual on-call exhaustion and her eyes were bloodshot and puffy. Maybe it had to do with the guilt Callie had mentioned she felt regarding Izzie. Her death definitely compounded that problem.

"Is something—" But when Callie raised her head to speak, the look on her face was enough to make Cristina cut herself short. It also became apparent that her state had nothing to do with Izzie. "Cristina…it's George. They think it might be time to say goodbyes…"

_So maybe we've got it all backwards. Maybe it's the light that we should really fear. At least in the dark we can let ourselves believe what we want—that we're control. That we're safe. But in the light, reality is inescapable. And maybe that gives us time to prepare, but even preparation can't protect you from some things. And worse yet, without the dark, there's nowhere left to hide. All that is left to do is close your eyes…and brace for impact._


	3. Farewell

Author: AngelaMermaid

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_When you're a child, every adult seems old, like they've lived for thousands of years. You can't wait to grow up. When you're a teenager, every adult seems like an idiot, because they couldn't possibly know anything at all about your life. And they're old. You can't wait to grow up and live your own life. And when you're an adult, you wonder how you grew to maturity knowing so little when there was so much to know. And you become aware of how precious and short life can be. And how much you need other people._

"Cristina…it's George. They think it might be time to say goodbyes…" Callie stood there in front of them, looking lost and defeated.

Richard Webber stepped up from behind Callie. "Dr Hunt, O'Malley has internal bleeding. We're preparing to open him up again to find the source of the bleeders - I'd like you to scrub in."

"Of course," Owen said. Cristina touched his arm. "Want the powder?"

He half-smiled. "If you don't mind."

"I offered, didn't I?" She turned around and headed towards Owen's usual parking spot.

.~.~.

After Cristina delivered the powder to the ER, she walked out to the waiting room. She saw Meredith and Callie were talking. They stopped when they saw her approaching, giving her a sinking feeling.

"Did Owen spend the night?" Meredith asked.

"On the couch," Cristina replied smoothly. "After _he_ made sure I was armed with a frying pan."

Callie looked askance at her. "I can't believe you let the guy who choked you spend the night."

"I can't believe you spent the night here with your cheating ex-husband instead of your perfectly nice girlfriend," Cristina shot back.

Callie raised an eyebrow as Meredith stared at her. "_Cristina!_"

"Owen is trouble," Callie said. "He got George to enlist and now look where he is."

"He did _not_ get George to enlist, he didn't know about it until the morning after," Cristina shot back, frustrated. "And guess what? Owen wasn't driving the bus that hit George. The accident is a tragedy, but George would have died two days ago if it weren't for Owen. And the trauma skills he picked up while trying not to get _his_ ass shot off in Iraq. Stop blaming Owen for everything that's happened to George!"

Callie stared at the floor while Meredith observed Cristina curiously.

Cristina drew in a deep breath. "He's been in therapy, he's still in therapy, he will be in therapy for a long time to come. And I support him." She looked at her own feet and mumbled. "We're taking it slowly."

She looked back up at her friends. Meredith smiled softly at her. "Cristina Yang, are you in -?"

"Oh, don't make me talk about feelings," Cristina muttered. She looked directly at Callie. "Sorry – sorry I snapped at you. If you don't want him sleeping on the couch while you or Arizona are in the apartment, I understand. Say the word, and he'll sleep elsewhere."

"I don't want him sleeping on the couch while _you're_ in the apartment!" Callie protested.

"I could handcuff him to my bed?" Cristina offered with a slight smile. Callie scowled.

Cristina sighed. "Look – when your father got all judgemental on you because of Arizona and took away every cent in your name, did you lie to him about Arizona? Did you dump her?"

Callie shook her head. Meredith watched with interest.

"And you didn't, because you would be dishonest to yourself and it would mean walking away from someone special." Cristina took a deep breath. "I try very hard to respect Owen's privacy, because he is a very private guy. But – look around you. How many people are around us?"

Callie frowned. " About 18? 20? Why?"

"Imagine those people suddenly dying violently and you were the only survivor. And you knew each and every one of them because they were your whole unit." Cristina nibbled her bottom lip. "Owen doesn't have to imagine that scenario, he lived it. 19 people died and he lived. _19_. And that's not the only reason that Owen is suffering from PTSD. He's got stories that would give anyone nightmares. But he's getting help now. I will not sleep in the same bed as him, not for a long time, but I can't not be with him any more."

"I think you _are_ in love," Meredith marvelled.

"You're not going to hug me, are you?"

"Like you two know how to hug," a male voice snarked from behind. They turned to see Alex Karev, dressed casually and looking ravaged. "I hear O'Malley's bleeding again?"

Meredith nodded. "The Chief and Dr Hunt are working on him."

"If anyone can figure it out, I bet it's Dr Hunt," Alex said quietly. "Keep me updated, okay? I'm going over – plans – with Bailey and Izzie's mom."

"Will do," they promised him.

.~.~.

The page came a couple of hours later. Meredith made sure to page Alex before Callie and the first year residents gathered outside of the ER room where George had been taken. Chief Webber and Dr Hunt were waiting for them. Cristina noted that Owen's posture was relaxed, and she felt the first stirrings of hope.

The Chief held out a metal pan, extending it for them to look inside. "Dr Hunt found a piece of glass, we missed it during his original surgeries. Probably road debris. Thanks to that - unusual powder - we were able to stop the bleeding and do repair work. O'Malley's still critical, but I think he'll heal better without this in him."

Cristina looked at the shard of glass and winced. _Poor George_. She looked at Owen and noticed his gaze fixed on her, blue eyes warm and happy. She recognized his giddy look and smiled.

Alex nodded and extended his hand to Owen. "Good work, Dr Hunt."

Owen shook his hand. "Thanks Karev." He nodded to Cristina. "Dr Yang, a word?"

They walked away, giving every appearance of being colleagues, until they were out of the Chief's sight. By unspoken agreement, they moved quickly into the closest supply closet, and closed the door.

Cristina grabbed Owen's face and pulled him into a kiss. He pressed her up against the door, giving as good as he was getting. When they came up for air, he stroked her face. "Thanks for getting the powder. It made all the difference."

"Thank you for finding the glass," she murmured. "Do you really think George can make it now?"

He nodded. "It was a great surgery. I don't think I've ever been so happy to find a foreign object in someone." He checked his watch and sighed. "I'd love to continue this, but I'm due in Dr Wyatt's office in two minutes."

"Find me after." She gave him a quick kiss to send him on his way.

.~.~.

Owen approached Cristina in the Pit, caught her attention with a light touch at her elbow. "Can we talk?" he asked, nodding his head towards his small office. She nodded and followed him inside.

"So - if you're okay with it, I'd like to go with you to the funeral tomorrow. The Chief is giving me the day off." He looked at her.

She frowned. "I thought a funeral might be hard for you. I mean, you must have been to so many -"

He cut her off with a shake of his head. "I spoke with Dr Wyatt about that. It's not going to be a military funeral and I'll wear a suit, not my dress uniform. It's not the same."

She looked at him. "Are you sure?"

He took her hands. "I want to pay my respects. She was just starting to realize her potential as a teacher. And I want to be there for you and for Alex."

"Okay. Pick me up at noon." She leaned closer and he wrapped his arms around her. She closed her eyes as he stroked her hair. They stood there for a few minutes, gently touching and just enjoying being together, until her pager went off. Sighing, Owen withdrew his arms while she checked it.

"I need to go get some test results," she muttered. "So - do you have any plans for tonight?"

"I have to go buy a suit," he said. "I only have one - and I wore that to the wedding..."

She nodded. "Okay. See you tomorrow." She gave him a quick kiss and left the office.

.~.~.

"Are you okay, babe?" Arizona asked Callie. "You've been so quiet tonight." She touched Callie's black hair tentatively as they sat on her couch.

"I want to ask you something about military life and your brother," Callie said. "But I don't want to upset you."

Arizona tilted her head curiously. "Ask me anything you want."

"When – when you're in a platoon, or a unit – it's true that your unit becomes your family, right?"

Arizona nodded.

"And when someone dies in your unit, it's like you lost a family member?"

Arizona nodded again. "My brother lost a few people from his unit, and it deeply affected him. And when _he_ died, everyone from his unit called or wrote to us. Everyone that could, came to his funeral. Even if it meant travelling half the world."

"What if –" Callie licked her lips nervously. "What if your brother had come home with PTSD? What would you have done?"

Arizona blinked in surprise. "I would have welcomed him home with a big hug, and busted my ass getting him help."

"You would have – you would have still loved him? Even if it made him a different person when he sleeps?"

"Of course," Arizona replied. "Why are you asking? There's no way that George is going to report for duty any time soon."

"It's about Owen Hunt," Callie said quietly.

"_Owen_? Did Owen get bad news about someone in Iraq?"

"No," Callie sighed. "It turns out the bad news happened months ago. And he's in trouble."

.~.~.

Owen picked Cristina up the next day, as arranged. She glanced admiringly as his new dark suit, as he helped her into his truck. As he drove, she updated him on George's condition - stable, showing slight improvement from yesterday. The rest of the drive was spent in sombre silence. Cristina felt dread - what if Owen couldn't handle being at a funeral? Was it selfish of her to want him with her? For she was realizing how much that she wanted him beside her, for today and all the days to come.

After he pulled into a parking spot and opened her door for her, she drew in a deep breath and looked at him. "If it gets to be too much for you, you can go. Wait outside for me or whatever."

He looked curiously at her and offered her his arm. "I think it will be okay, Cristina. I'm more worried about you."

"Don't be," she muttered, looking at the ground as she took his proffered arm. They walked into the building, greeting the people they knew. She glanced briefly at Alex - he looked absolutely wrecked. She looked at the front of the chapel and saw the white open casket. She looked away.

"Let's sit in the back," she murmured to Owen. She wanted him to be able to leave quietly if he needed to.

.~.~.

Cristina had never liked funerals, and this one was particularly bothersome. She found the sprays of flowers excessive. She thought the hymns were old-fashioned. Izzie would have loved it, but she hated it. Owen kept a firm grip on her hand. She glanced at him often - he seemed to be holding up well.

As Alex rose to speak, Cristina felt a growing pressure in her chest. She quietly placed her fingers against her pulse in her neck, earning a raised eyebrow from Owen. She squirmed as Alex spoke, prompting Owen to put his arm around her. She checked her watch and wondered how soon they could leave. She looked everywhere but at the casket.

After Alex finished his sad eulogy, the minister took the pulpit again.

"Now we say goodbye to a beloved wife, daughter and friend," he began. Cristina suddenly let out a small sob. Horrified, she covered her mouth. Owen's free hand found hers, and he held on tightly.

As the minister continued, Cristina felt tears start to stream down her face. She closed her eyes, willing the tears to stop, but they kept flowing. Her chest felt heavy with emotion and she recognized the early signs of hyperventilation as her upper lip tingled and she began to breathe heavily.

"It's okay," Owen whispered in her ear, hugging her.

"Get me out of here," she whispered back.

Surprised, he stood up, guiding her out of the door and into the lobby. She collapsed against him, unable to support herself as she started to weep in earnest. She looked in horror through the open door into the chapel, where a few people in the back rows had turned to look at her.

"Outside," she gasped, holding onto his lapels. He nodded, bent down, and scooped her up, carrying her outside. He walked over to a bench in the courtyard and sat down, cradling her on his lap and in his arms. Relieved, she buried her face against his neck and cried while he stroked her back, her neck, her face.

Eventually, the tears dried up. Owen pulled a package of tissues out of his jacket and handed them to her. She nodded her thanks while she dried her face and blew her nose. Then she leaned her head against his neck again. "I didn't know suits came with Kleenex," she muttered. He kissed her forehead. They sat in silence.

"And I was worried about _you_," she sighed.

She felt him smile against her forehead. "Don't worry about me today, Cristina."

They heard the faint sounds of a hymn emanate from the building. "Want to go back in?" he asked.

"No," she murmured. "I don't do hymns."

"After the hymn?"

"No," she said. "I can't go back in there."

He nodded. "Do - do you want to go to my place for a little bit before we go to Joe's? It's on the way. You could rest for a bit in private."

"Okay," she said, feeling drained. He moved to carry her again, and she protested. "I can walk."

.~.~.

Owen held the door open for her as she entered his apartment. She raised her eyebrows in surprise. She had been here once before, briefly, and had been taken aback by how sparsely furnished and impersonal it was. Now, it was - homey. He'd added more furniture, unpacked a lot of books, and put up some photographs.

"You decorated," she noted. "I like it."

"Thanks," he chuckled, taking her jacket. "Thought I'd make myself more at home."

She smiled at him. The changes in his home were a clear sign that Owen was feeling healthier and was intending to stay in Seattle. She hugged herself and walked around, looking at the photos, while he poured two glasses of water.

She paused, looking at a photo of his mother with a skinny young man. He was dressed in plaid and torn jeans, with wavy unkempt red hair. She guessed it was taken when Nirvana hit it big. She looked at the photo and then at Owen, bringing her a glass of water. _Couldn't be_.

Owen handed her the glass of water, and she gratefully sipped from it.

"Guess who that is," he grinned, pointing at the photo.

She looked at him and back at the photo. "I can't believe that skinny kid is _you_."

He smiled and nodded. "I didn't really bulk up until I joined the Army. But the grunge hair didn't last long. Kept getting in the way of looking at girls."

She examined the photo again. "So _that's_ what you look like without a beard." She reached up and caressed his chin briefly.

He kissed her. "I hope you like the beard, because it's staying."

"It can stay."

He smiled and wrapped his arms around her. "Do you want to lie down for a while before we go?"

"No." She leaned her head back against his chest.

"Do you - want to talk about -"

"No." She paused. "If Meredith was here, we could dance it out."

"Dance it out?"

She nodded. "When the shit hits the fan, we crank up the music, get drunk, and dance it out."

"I'd like to see that some time," he said quietly, massaging her neck.

"Or -" She walked over to the new stereo she'd spotted and turned it on.

"I don't dance," he protested, as she started flipping through the radio stations.

"Ah." She stopped at a classic rock station and turned to look at him, standing there looking panicked.

"Cristina," he protested, when she walked over to him. "I. Don't. Dance."

"Relax," she urged him. "The music's changing. Surely you _slow_ dance?"

She found his nervous laugh endearing. "On occasion."

"Dance with me." She held out her arms. "I'm having a shitty day."

"Fine," he relented, taking her hand and pulling her close. "But this stays between us."

She smiled triumphantly and leaned against him. Whatever his opinion might be, she thought Owen had a decent sense of rhythm. She observed that they moved well together, hips swaying in time to the music. They moved very well together indeed.

Out of nowhere, she thought about Izzie and Alex. They didn't even get to dance together as husband and wife. She sighed and leaned her weight against Owen's chest. "We will dance it out one day, Owen Hunt," she said.

He stopped moving and looked down at her. "Where did that come from?"

"We _will_ dance it out," she repeated, kissing him. "We aren't going to deny ourselves experiences. We are going to take opportunities as they arise, okay? We are not going to regret things that we never did."

He smiled gently before kissing her back. "Okay."

.~.~.

When they walked into Joe's, the crowd was substantial but subdued. Meredith and Derek motioned for them to join them at their table.

"I'll get our drinks first," Owen told Cristina. She nodded.

Owen made his way to the bar and ordered their drinks. He turned at a tap on his shoulder. He was surprised to see Callie and Arizona standing there, both of them looking like they had something to say.

"Owen," Callie began, then faltered. Arizona nudged her.

"Owen," Callie started again. "I just wanted to say – you can sleep on our couch any time."

Owen raised his eyebrows. "Um – thanks, Callie."

"Thank you for serving our country!" Arizona blurted out. "My brother – didn't make it home from Iraq."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Owen said. "Lots of good people didn't make it home." He turned to pay Joe and pick up the drinks. "Do you ladies want to join us at our table?"

"We'd love to," Arizona replied.

Cristina raised her eyebrows to see Owen walk back with Callie and Arizona flocking him.

"Aw, they're friends now," Meredith whispered in her ear. Cristina rolled her eyes, secretly feeling relieved. She sensed that Owen didn't have a strong social network in Seattle yet. And she was determined to do what she could to make sure he felt connected, so he would never think of leaving again.

She took the glass Owen handed her and stood up. She raised her glass and said simply, "To Izzie."

"To Izzie," everyone echoed. She drained her glass and sat down next to Owen, who took her hand. _Onward to our future_, she thought.

_We think we have forever – and then we don't. We think we know our feelings – and then we don't. We think that we're living our lives to the fullest – and then we look back, and wonder why we wasted our time with the trivial, when what was most important was sitting right in front of us._


	4. Every Story is a Love Story

**Author's Note**: Greetings from shli! First, I want to thank all of you, readers, for sticking with us thus far. Thank you to my fellow InTheBetween authors (HopeCrowe, BNScrubNurse, angelamermaid, and ohcyfan) for their feedback and support. An extra thank you to HopeCrowe: my Cristina/Owen twin, cheerleader, and awesome beta-reader. And a special thanks to mcgroupie, who lent me a bit of her wisdom and was the inspiration for the voiceovers.

* * *

_Everyone has regrets. At some point, we all wish we could go back in time and do something differently… Search for the truth behind a loved one's strange behavior. Get a separate bank account. Give an ordinary guy a second look. Go home instead of spending the night… In the end, we can't know what life will bring. We can't always choose the right path. Because life is a journey – even when we don't want it to be._

Owen leaned back into the deep cushions of the leather couch in Dr. Wyatt's office. It was no longer a place of intense discomfort; no, to his surprise, he had come to the point where therapy was something he almost looked forward to. Here, he could tame his demons and face his ghosts. Here, he could work things out and keep his promise to Cristina: to be a better man for her and _with _her.

"I feel hopeful. That's what I feel today. Hopeful," Owen said, breaking the silence.

Dr. Wyatt scribbled something into her notebook. Even after all this time, the action still made Owen the tiniest bit anxious.

"About Cristina?" Dr. Wyatt asked. From the very first time they'd met, their sessions had been focused on two main areas of discussion: his unit and his relationship with Cristina. It was clear to Dr. Wyatt that Owen Hunt was deeply in love with the petite Asian doctor she'd once met briefly; and judging from the things Owen said about her in return, Dr. Wyatt surmised that the feeling was mutual.

"About Cristina, about O'Malley, about my mom – everything," Owen replied. "Even Torres has warmed up to me. She no longer blames me for O'Malley's decision to join the army; and she's started to forgive me for what happened with Cristina… I'm really beginning to feel like I belong here."

Owen let out a small laugh, as if he couldn't quite believe just how well things were going in his life. There was a time when the most he could hope for was a couple hours of sleep and just a glimpse of Cristina at work. But now… Now, he'd gone four nights without a nightmare, and he spent most of his free time with Cristina – life was good.

"That's great, Owen. You're connecting again," Dr. Wyatt said, leaning forward to convey just how significant it was.

Owen nodded. He'd come a long way from the broken man who'd returned home from the war. He had lost his entire unit – and the pain had been nearly unbearable; but he had come to realize that it was no reason to keep himself from forging new bonds. He couldn't live his life being afraid of losing people who were close to him – because a life in fear would be no life at all.

"Stevens' death really made me realize just how important it is to take advantage of the time you're given – to lean into the fear…" Owen immediately thought of Cristina and what she had said in his apartment: to grab opportunities, to live without regrets, to "dance it out."

Owen smiled at the last part: hopefully, the dancing would be few and far between. Slow dancing with Cristina and holding her close? _That_, he could do. Bobbing around, feeling like an idiot? _That_, he could do without.

Forcing himself to snap out of his reverie, Owen continued, "I'm going to visit my mom today."

"By yourself?" Dr. Wyatt asked.

"No, with Cristina," Owen replied. Before Dr. Wyatt could interject and remind him that he should try to see his mother on his own, without using Cristina as a crutch, Owen went on. "My mom invited us to dinner," he explained.

"I see. How has it been going with your mother?"

"Really good, actually. I've been talking to her on the phone almost every day. It's been a lot easier now that she knows I'm back. And things between us are getting back to the way they were – where I could tell her almost everything."

"Give me an example of a typical conversation."

Owen gave a slightly embarrassed laugh. "Therapy and work…but mostly about Cristina. Which is why my mother probably invited us to dinner. She really didn't get the chance to talk to Cristina last time."

"So, you and Cristina are making some headway in your relationship."

"Yes," Owen answered a bit apprehensively. He still had some worries about them possibly having gotten back together prematurely. He didn't ever want to hurt Cristina again. "Do you think it's too soon?" he asked, uncertainty lacing his every word.

Dr. Wyatt gently shook her head. "Owen, only you and Cristina can know for sure if the timing is right. I'm not here to tell you what to do in your relationships. All I _can _tell you is that you've been doing better and that it's important for you to have a good support system. And if being with Cristina helps, then it's the right decision for you to make."

The tension that had built up in Owen's body as he awaited Dr. Wyatt's response eased. Even though the psychiatrist hadn't given him a clear cut answer, _he _knew – in his gut, in his heart – that being with Cristina was good for him.

"It _is _the right decision," he answered with conviction.

Dr. Wyatt nodded, believing him. She could see the difference in him since he and Cristina had decided to make a go of things again. The man before her now showed a marked improvement from the man that had first come into her office – _this _Owen smiled and talked more freely. She was thoroughly impressed with how dedicated he was to his therapy and to getting better.

"Have you had any panic attacks, nightmares, or strong startle reflexes lately?" Dr. Wyatt asked.

"No," Owen said with a sigh of relief. He hadn't had any sort of a serious PTSD episode in a while.

"Good," Dr. Wyatt replied, glancing at the clock and seeing that their time was almost over. "That's a good sign." Owen gave a tiny smile, but the psychiatrist wasn't done. "But I want you to be prepared for the possibility of minor relapses – that's just the reality of how the process works." Owen nodded. He never expected it to be an easy road to recovery, and he certainly wouldn't ever give up – there was just too much at stake. Dr. Wyatt continued, not wanting to end the session on a sour note, "But you have made _a lot _of progress, Owen, you really have. Look how far you've come: you've gone from being unable to talk about your feelings, to being ashamed – and now you're hopeful. You really are getting better."

Owen was grateful to hear proof of his progress coming from his therapist's lips. It was one thing to _feel _like he was improving; but it was another to _know _so. Yes, things were really starting to look up.

***

"Hey there now," Owen said quietly into Cristina's ear as he approached her from behind.

Cristina gave a slight jolt before turning around to face him. She leaned against the shelves in the medical supply closet, waiting for Owen to close the door in order to give them a little bit of privacy. "Seriously?" she asked. "You're going to resort to those three word sentences again?"

Owen laughed against her lips as he dipped his head down to kiss her. "No… I love you, Cristina Yang," he said, lips hovering within an inch of hers.

"I love you, too, Owen Hunt," she whispered back. The words flowed smoothly now, and it warmed his heart just hearing her say it with such ease. Owen wasn't the only one making progress these days. "So, what's with locking us in a supply closet? Not that I mind playing hooky, but it's not very 'professional.'" Cristina stressed the last word, making a dig at his earlier insistence on keeping things strictly business between them.

"Professionalism is overrated," he joked, swooping in to steal another kiss.

Cristina chuckled. It felt good to able to laugh again. She'd been so weighed down with grief and worry that moments like these were a blessing. "How did your session with your shrink go this morning?"

"Good. Really good. I told her that we were going to see my mom again today…" Cristina's face flickered with an unreadable expression. "What? Did you forget? Are you not feeling up to it?" Owen asked.

"Uh…no. It's just… I'm… Um…" Cristina stammered out, trying to find the words to convey that she hadn't forgotten but was just inexplicably nervous over seeing his mother again. Though Sarah Hunt had seemed to like her the last time, Cristina was still generally wary of mothers.

Owen tenderly stroked her cheek as he looked deep into her eyes. "I told you, Cristina. We can postpone this dinner for when you're ready. My mother will understand. You've just lost one of your close friends. You don't have to do this."

"No, no," Cristina quickly objected. "I can handle it." When Owen didn't seem to believe her, she added jokingly, "Not to mention the fact that I've been looking forward to food that isn't take-out."

Owen remained unconvinced. "Cristina…"

"It'll be fine," she said, covering his hand with hers. "If anything, it will keep me from thinking about Izzie or worrying about George… And I might as well start getting to know your mother better now – I don't want to spend the next forty years or so hiding from her."

Owen cracked a smile.

"Plus, your mother is way better than mine – I might just steal her away from you," Cristina said, only partially kidding. She would take Sarah Hunt over Helen Rubenstein any day.

Owen laughed, enjoying the idea of Cristina becoming part of the Hunt family. But that discussion could wait. Instead, he said, "Admit it. You just want to see more embarrassing pictures of me."

"That, too," Cristina replied with a smile, pressing a kiss into the palm of his hand before pulling him towards the door. Play time was over, and it was time to get back to work.

***

"Dr. Hunt, where do you need me?" Alex asked as he approached Owen wearing a trauma gown.

"Karev, I thought the Chief gave you time off."

"He did, but I didn't want it." Owen could see a glint of stubbornness and determination in Alex's eyes.

"Are you sure you're up to going back to work so soon?" Owen asked, wanting to make sure that Alex was indeed able to handle being on his trauma service today – for Alex's sake and for the patients' sakes.

"Look, Izzie wanted me to become a brilliant surgeon; and I can't do that sitting on my ass at home crying over my dead wife. And O'Malley is certainly not in any shape to help. So, yeah, I'm ready to go back to work." Alex stood before Owen defiantly, daring the Head of Trauma to turn him away.

Owen looked at Alex for a moment, not the least bit put off by his brashness. In fact, he recognized a bit of himself in the younger man. More than that, he admired Alex's ability to function after losing the love of his life. He didn't even want to think what _he _would be like if he ever lost Cristina. Shaking off that dark thought, Owen nodded at Alex and said, "Okay then. We've got a trauma coming in: a car accident on the freeway. Let's go."

***

Before they knew it, Owen and Cristina were on their way to his mother's house. Cristina felt the rare sensation of butterflies in her stomach as she subconsciously clung to Owen's hand – she normally didn't do nervous, but she was nervous now. The calming effect of Meredith's earlier pep talk – and teasing over being in love with G.I. Joe – had worn off.

_I can do mothers, I can do mothers, _Cristina repeated to herself. Well, it wasn't entirely true; so Cristina changed her mantra. _I can do _this_ mother, I can do _this_ mother._

Owen gently let go of Cristina's hand as he got out of the truck and went over to her side to open the door for her. She was used to such acts of chivalry now that it was almost second nature for her to wait for him. Cristina took his hand as she stepped onto the sidewalk, brushing away imaginary lint from her dark jeans while he closed the door behind her.

He interlaced his fingers with hers and just stood there for a moment. "We can still reschedule, Cristina."

Cristina gave him a haughty look. "I'm literally only a few steps away from your mother's house. You seriously think I'm going to chicken out, now?"

Owen let out a chuckle and grazed her forehead with his lips. "That's my Cristina."

Letting go of Owen's hand to prove her point, she marched towards the wooden front door and knocked smartly. Owen reached Cristina's side just as Sarah opened the door.

"Cristina," Sarah said warmly, pulling Cristina in for a hug. As Cristina had gotten used to the fact that Owen was a gentleman, she had also gotten used to the fact that Sarah was a hugger.

"Thanks for inviting me, Mrs. Hunt – I mean, Sarah," Cristina said, catching herself. There were no formalities allowed in this house.

Sarah moved on to hug her son.

"Hi, Mom," Owen said, leaning down to wrap his arms around her.

After a moment, Sarah stepped back to let the couple in. "Come in, come in. Dinner's almost ready. Owen, please set up the table," she said, ushering them into the house.

As Sarah returned to her cooking and Owen went to retrieve the plates and silverware, Cristina took a closer look at the framed photos sitting on the mantel in the living room. Her attention was caught on a particular picture of a young Owen with an older man with similar features, whom Cristina assumed was his father. They had matching grins as they beamed into the camera. A tan-colored tent served as a backdrop to the clearly close pair.

"That's my dad," Owen said, startling Cristina.  
Cristina turned around to face him. "You look a lot like him, especially now with the beard." she said, stroking her thumb across the rough surface of his beard.

"Yeah…He died when I was ten…"

Cristina could hear the pain in his voice and didn't want to push any further, so she quickly changed the subject. "What are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be setting the table."

The shadows from Owen's eyes disappeared as he smiled. "It doesn't take that long to put out three sets of plates and silverware."

Cristina shrugged. "I thought you would go help your mother with dinner."

"She wouldn't let me."

"Well then, I guess it's up to me to help your mother."

Cristina left, missing the mysterious smile that appeared on Owen's face.

As Cristina entered the kitchen, she could smell the delicious aroma of a home-cooked meal – something that she wasn't accustomed to. She hadn't touched her own pots and pans in a long, long time – in fact, the last time she could remember even holding them was when her mother had given them to her. And plus, Callie did most of the cooking back at the apartment.

"Hi, Sarah, do you need any help?" Cristina asked, already rolling up her sleeves in preparation.

Sarah turned towards Cristina, stirring the contents in the steaming pot with one hand and shooing her away with the other. "No, no," she replied, "I'm fine. And Owen warned me not to let you near the food. Something about not wanting to give us all food poisoning." Cristina blushed, already planning her revenge on Owen for blabbing about her lack of culinary skills to his mother. Sarah quickly continued, not wanting Cristina to be embarrassed, "Oh, honey, I'm glad you can't cook. I'd love to get the chance to teach you and get to know you better." She smiled kindly at the younger woman. "Now go and relax. I'm almost done."

Cristina heeded Sarah's orders and went back into the living room where Owen was lounging in a chair with a shameless grin on his face. He'd heard the women's conversation in the kitchen and knew that Cristina would probably get back at him for warning his mother about Cristina's lack of cooking abilities. He was right.

Cristina sauntered over to Owen's side, easing herself onto his lap. Owen's arms immediately went around her waist to anchor her. She leaned close to his ear and whispered, "So, you told your mother that I can't cook, hmmmm?"

Owen started feeling a little hot under the collar. The way her warm breath grazed the sensitive skin of his ear was having an effect on another part of his anatomy – one that he didn't want his mother to see. "Uh…yes," Owen stammered out, shifting positions in his chair.

Cristina smiled mischievously at Owen's fidgeting and continued her teasing. She placed her hand on his chest, drawing circles with her finger as she said, "I'm going to make you something spicy…and sweet…And you're going to have to eat every last bite of it."

"Okay…" Owen answered, distractedly. He was so preoccupied with the hypnotic tone in her voice and the seductive manner in which she was stroking his chest that he would have said yes to anything at that point.

Owen was starting to seriously contemplate just how he could sneak Cristina off somewhere for a bit of privacy when Cristina suddenly leapt from Owen's lap and went off to the kitchen to help Sarah carry out the food. It took a moment for Owen to realize that his mother had been calling them. When he'd cooled down a bit, he went into the dining room to see that Cristina and his mother had already seated themselves.

Sarah Hunt gave her son a stern look as he sheepishly took his seat. "What took you so long, Owen? The poor girl is starving, and you kept her waiting."

Cristina flashed him a cheeky smirk. "Yeah, Owen, what were you doing?" Even though she knew very well what he'd been doing – and it'd been entirely her fault.

Owen smiled apologetically at his mother. "Sorry, Mom. Just checking my messages."

Cristina mouthed the word "liar" when Sarah wasn't looking, and the three of them began to eat. The moment Cristina's fork hit her tongue, she let out an involuntary sound of enjoyment. Sarah grinned with pleasure, glad that Cristina liked her cooking, while Owen cleared his throat as his mind started to drift towards inappropriate thoughts.

Fortunately (or unfortunately), Cristina started asking about what Owen was like when he was a young boy. Sarah happily regaled Cristina with stories of Owen as a child and teenager, mentioning some details that Owen would have preferred to forget – much to Cristina's delight and Owen's chagrin.

Owen's cheeks started getting ruddy with embarrassment as Sarah told Cristina the tale of Owen's first crush – how he'd come running home, demanding that his mother give him his grandmother's ring because he had found the girl he was going to marry. He'd been six years old, and her name was Delilah.

"Mom," Owen groaned out, ducking his head in humiliation.

"What? You were so adorable just standing there, refusing to change your mind. It took me over an hour to convince you that you couldn't marry your first-grade teacher."

Cristina started snorting into her napkin. Sarah turned to her and added, "But I have a feeling that the next time Owen asks me for his grandmother's ring, I will be more than happy to give it to him." She gave Cristina a knowing look, and it was now Cristina's turn to blush.

Before Owen could interject with another self-conscious "Mom," Cristina's pager went off. Glancing quickly at the screen, she gave Sarah Hunt a remorseful look and said, "I'm so sorry, Sarah, but I have to go. My friend…he just woke up and…"

Sarah quickly got up from the table and interrupted her, not needing an explanation. "Go, go. I understand. Just give me a second to put these into a container for you to take with you."

Before Cristina could object to the kind and unnecessary gesture, Sarah whipped away their plates and bustled to the kitchen to pack the food. Within seconds, she came back out with a Tupperware container filled with their leftovers.

"Here, take this," she said, handing Cristina the warm container. "And these," she added, placing a couple of plastic forks on top of it. "Thank you so much for coming. And there's no need to apologize. There will be plenty of chances for us to have dinner together."

After Owen helped Cristina put on her coat, Cristina hugged the older woman briefly. "I would love that, Sarah. But we want you to be our guest next time. And don't worry, I'll let Owen do all the cooking," she said with a smile before heading towards the truck.

Sarah laughed as she waved good-bye at them from the doorway, watching them drive off.

***

When Owen and Cristina got to George's room, the room was already crowded: Amanda (the woman whose life George had saved), the Chief, Lexie, Meredith, Derek, Alex, and Callie – all of them were gathered around George's bed as they anxiously watched Bailey run the trials.

"George? If you can hear me, can you blink your eyes twice?" Bailey asked softly in an encouraging tone, speaking to him as she would one of her peds patients.

The only sounds that could be heard were the mechanical whirring of the machines and the air being pumped into George's lungs by the ventilator. George's face was still slightly swollen, but they could see him slowly blink twice. Everyone let out a collective sigh of relief.

"Good, George. Now, can you wiggle the fingers on your right hand for me?"

Ten sets of eyes went to George's right hand as the index finger moved up and down.

"You're doing great. Do you think you can squeeze my hand?" Bailey asked, placing her smaller hand in his.

George gave her hand a weak squeeze before quickly letting go; he was getting groggier and groggier from the morphine drip. Sensing that he was growing tired, Bailey stepped back and faced the other doctors in the room.

"George needs to rest, and he can't do it with all of you hovering over him like this. Go get some sleep. I'll page you if something changes."

Everyone reluctantly filed out of the room – even the Chief knew when not to argue with Bailey; some went back to work and others opted to stick close by. Everyone left Bailey with George but Amanda. The red-headed woman timidly approached the petite firecracker and asked, "Please, can I stay? I don't want him to be alone."

Though Bailey had planned to monitor George by herself, she didn't have the heart to turn the other woman away. Amanda had stayed religiously at George's side since the accident, and Bailey could tell that the woman was very much invested in George getting better.

"Fine," Bailey replied, taking the bite out of her tone. "But you have to get some rest yourself."

Amanda nodded, returning to her usual spot by George's side, and laid her head on the bed as she held his hand.

***

Cristina and Owen decided against going to her apartment to wait for the start of their shift, choosing instead to remain in the hospital – just in case. Changing into their scrubs, the two met in an empty on-call room and finished the leftovers before it got cold.

Letting out a huge yawn, Cristina dropped their forks into the empty plastic container and replaced the lid. After setting it on the small table nearby, she leaned against Owen's side and rested her head on his shoulder.

"I'm going to sneak in a nap before our shift starts in two hours. Care to join me?" Cristina asked, raising her eyebrow in a playfully suggestive manner.

"Cristina, maybe I should find another on-call room," Owen replied, his brows furrowing.

"Owen, don't be ridiculous. There is plenty of room in here," she said, gesturing towards the bunk bed and the couch.

"Cristina…" Owen replied, still sounding unsure.

Cristina could tell from his tone that he needed further convincing. "Look," she said, "I'll take the upper bunk bed. Okay? You can't choke me if I'm up there."

"Okay," Owen responded, albeit still a tad reluctant. But hearing Cristina make light of the situation persuaded Owen that his fears were clouding his logic.

He helped Cristina onto the bed – his hands lingering at her hips a little longer than necessary – and stood on the edge of the lower bed so that he could draw the covers over her. Tucking an errant curl behind her ear, he gently tugged her towards him so that he could kiss her. He pulled away, tasting a bit of his mother's famous sauce on his lips. "Good night, Cristina."

"Good night," she muttered sleepily, already starting to fall asleep from the combination of a long day and being blissfully full.

Owen settled himself under the blankets and closed his eyes, listening to the lulling sound of Cristina's rhythmic breathing until he, too, fell asleep.

And like most nights, the last thought on his mind was Cristina.

_Sometimes, we do make the right decision… We give someone another chance, and we put our trust in hope and fate. We move forward… Because a moment of temporary suffering turns out to be a step towards something better: finding someone whose life's journey is intertwined with ours… Because if we're lucky, fate brings us a partner – a soul mate. And then life is no longer just a journey but a wonderful adventure._


	5. Two Steps Forward One Step Back

**Author: Ohcyfan**

**_And here it is - the fifth installment of Season 5.5. It's been such a pleasure working with my fellow fanfic writers as we craft this interim season. Thanks to BNScrubnurse, HopeCrowe, and Angelamermaid for their feedback on this episode - and a special thanks to Shli being such an entertaining and capable beta for the entire story, and for her extensive assistance with the voiceovers.  
_**

* * *

_When we first start learning to walk, stumbling is to be expected. We take a few awkward and slightly off-balance steps forward, only to fall almost immediately back to the ground. But we don't give up. We try again. We push ourselves up, however wobbly we may be, and take a few more tentative steps. And on we go, plugging away until we eventually reach our goal._

After Cristina had settled in for the night, Owen turned out the lights and lay on the bottom bunk, staring at the underside of her bed. _How ridiculous is this?_ he reflected. _A grown man sleeping in the same room with his girlfriend, but not in the same bed?_ Yes, it was temporary. At least he hoped it was temporary. But the urge to coax her down from there and under the covers with him was strong.

It had been an emotional day, culminating with the dinner at his mom's and George's tentative steps toward healing. Of course Izzie's funeral still lurked in the background, coloring the hospital psyche with a shade of gray reminiscent of your average Seattle weather forecast. Everything, it seemed, was happening so fast. Yet this aspect of their relationship - _the ability to sleep together in the same bed, for shit's sake_ - was moving at a snail's pace. Yes, they were in the same room tonight, which was progress of a sort. He knew he had to embrace the journey if he was going to get anywhere without driving himself crazy in frustration. He closed his eyes and tried to relax, going over the events of the day in his mind as he drifted toward slumber, recalling how Cristina browsed the family photos at his mother's house and remarked on the resemblance between him and his dad. A small smile curved his lips. Those father/son camping trips had been the crowning jewels of his childhood. And Cristina - she looked good in his mom's living room, in his mom's kitchen - everywhere in that house and in his life. With that in mind, and Cristina's soft breathing drifting down from the upper bunk, he finally fell asleep.

-----------------

_He was a doorman at a posh hotel, immaculately uniformed down to the ridiculous cap and white gloves. As people arrived, he moved quickly to let them in, nodding and greeting them. Some were strangers, others were people he knew: Cristina, Derek, Meredith, Callie, Alex... All these, he opened the door for, and although they recognized him, the only one to really look at him and greet him by name was Cristina. In the dream he knew her well, but something was off about the encounter, and after she passed by he began to feel apprehensive. Izzie walked up, wearing her usual scrubs, looking radiant the way she had before the cancer had begun its inexorable progress through her brain. He opened the door for her, but she shook her head and refused to enter, sitting instead on a bench outside the door. He felt confused, and his apprehension grew. Why had she come here if she didn't mean to come in? Then the others began to arrive, but they didn't come inside either - his army buddies, still in uniform, whole and healthy and smiling like they used to when they were alive. At first he was glad to see their familiar faces as they approached the hotel, forgetting for a moment all that had happened, but that feeling was soon replaced by a sinking certainty that this was going to end badly. He wanted to dash outside and warn them all to run away, but when he tried he found that his feet were frozen in place. He couldn't move, couldn't call out to them to get out of danger or open the door and let them inside where it was safe. He broke into a sweat. Something bad was coming._

_Everyone waited patiently outside the door, chatting amongst themselves, lined up in pairs with military precision; and as he stood there watching them, trying to get their attention, they began to transform before his eyes. The flesh started to peel away from their bones, arms separated from bodies, heads blew off, guts spilled out - until they were splayed all over the hotel entryway - dismembered, pockmarked with shrapnel, eyes wide open in death. Blood and body parts came flying in his direction and splattered all over the big glass doors as he watched in helpless horror from the other side, whole and untouched by any of it. Compelled to act, he was relieved to find that his legs finally worked - but when he ran to the doors they wouldn't open. He yanked and tugged on the handles to no avail, his white gloves still spotless in spite of the oceans of blood splashed all over the other side of the glass. He pounded on the doors hard enough to break them, all the while watching in horror as the bodies melted and disintegrated in front of him. Izzie, untouched by any of this, stood silent witness by the bench._

_And then, in the midst of all the carnage, a solitary figure staggered toward the hotel doors. He was not disfigured like the others, only skeletal and sickly looking. His hair stuck out in patches on a mostly bald head, his frame prematurely aged and ravaged with cancer. Owen stared at him through the red haze of blood running down the glass door and saw himself, but not himself after all. **Dad.** He looked as Owen remembered him from those bleak days in grade school when he had gone to the hospital daily to visit, knowing that each time might be his last. He reached the doors and stopped, and his eyes - unlike the accepting, loving ones Owen had seen in those final days - were harsh and unforgiving. They bored their way through Owen's skull until he thought his head might explode...._

A moment later, he was sitting bolt upright in bed, drenched in a cold sweat - his heart pounding, his breath coming out in choked gasps. He swore aloud in a soft voice, aware that he was not alone in the room and hoping he hadn't called out in his sleep and awakened Cristina. _Fuck. Another nightmare._ It had been such a relief to have a stretch of days without them. He had begun to hope he'd never have another one, but clearly that had been premature. He flopped back on the bed and ran his hands over his face, his adrenaline racing and all hope of further sleep dashed. Cristina stirred above him, and in the near darkness he could see her head leaning over the side of the upper bunk.

"You okay?" she whispered.

"Yeah. Sorry I woke you."

"Was... was that a nightmare?" Her question was tentative, but he was relieved to hear no fear in it.

_Shit. This is just what we needed now._ "Yeah. It's okay. Go back to sleep."

"Ha! Fat chance of that." She shifted in bed and began gingerly climbing down the ladder.

"What're you doing? Don't come down here. I'm fine. Really." The truth was that he needed a few minutes alone to sit with the images in his brain and try to make sense of them. Dr. Wyatt would want to know everything. If he didn't make the effort to remember the nightmare in detail, important parts of it would fall away in the light of day. Since beginning therapy, he had taken to keeping a notebook near the bed for just this purpose, but the unplanned nature of their sojourn in the on-call room had found him unprepared, so he would need to depend on his memory. A compelling distraction like Cristina would likely compromise that.

"This isn't about you." She sounded almost condescending. "It's about my bladder."

"Oh." His embarrassment over making such an egotistical assumption must have shown on his face, because she gave him a reassuring nod as she made her way to the bathroom. Owen sank back into thought, painting a grotesque picture on the raw canvas of his brain as he made a first stab at figuring out the nightmare's significance. He knew Wyatt would be able to laser in on the important parts in an instant, but he was getting better at figuring some things out for himself and he couldn't help but try.

Although she had been encouraging, Dr. Wyatt had seemed reluctant to get too excited about his four-night stretch without incidents, and now he understood why. She had even warned him about relapses, but he'd been too high on his progress to give her cautionary words much credence. Well, now she had his attention. This nightmare ranked right up there with the worst of them, and his father's presence in it was a first. In hindsight, it was easy to see why this had come up tonight. Dinner with Cristina at his mom's had been a significant step, and things had been said that implied a future together. They were moving forward now in a big way. Like a rubber band stretched tight, the snap back was inevitable. Seeing that photo of the camping trip again, having Cristina comment on it... clearly it had triggered something in him, but he was at a loss to see the connection with everything else in the dream. What did this have to do with the ambush? Why was Izzie there? Was this just some random jumble that his brain had put together, or was there something here to work on?

He was interrupted in his reverie by the sound of the toilet flushing. Cristina padded back into the room and leaned over him. "Mind if I join you? We've only got 15 minutes before our shifts start, and I doubt even you could do away with me between now and then." Her tone was light, but he could tell she really wanted the contact and he pulled aside the covers and made room. She got in and he pulled her close. God, it felt good to hold her, especially after a scare like that one. The cool reality of her soft skin brought him back to the present and centered him like nothing else could. "Ok," he said and kissed her hair, "but just for 5 minutes. I really need a shower."

-----------------

Owen wasn't supposed to see Dr. Wyatt again for several days, but an early morning distress call landed him a lunch hour appointment. Rattled as he was by the nightmare, he was desperate to get to the bottom of it.

"I'm really worried that this happened with Cristina in the room. What if I'd tried to hurt her again?" While the images that lingered in his brain were horrifying, the idea of exposing Cristina to danger was the worst of it.

"And did you hurt her?"

"No, but..."

"Owen, do you remember the difference between a night**mare** and a night **terror**?"

"Of course. Nightmares are bad dreams that you can remember later. Night terrors are the ones where people do things in their sleep - and you don't remember anything."

"Right. And this was clearly a nightmare because..."

"Because I remember it."

"Yes. And you're still taking meds for the night terrors, right?"

"Yes." Owen had been to the hospital's sleep clinic and decided to try medication. So far, it was working well. "I'll be taking that for the rest of my life, apparently."

She nodded and took a breath, trying her best to to reassure him without delegitimizing his concerns. "In my professional opinion, you have enough to worry about right now without worrying about this. You and Cristina were careful. You had her sleep on the top bunk, which was very sensible. And what you had was a nightmare, so she wasn't in any danger. I suggest we move on here and focus before we run out of time."

Owen breathed a sigh of relief. "Okay."

"So... is this the first time you've had this particular nightmare?" He had a tendency to repeat the same ones over and over, and she had not heard anything like this one before.

"This was definitely new." He started listing the differences, counting on his fingers as he did so. "My dad was never in them before... having Stevens in there was also a first. Having everyone blow up wasn't new, but I've never seen that setting before - a hotel, for shit's sake. Where did that come from? In fact..." he leaned back on the couch and she could see the wheels turning in his head as he spoke, "...this was the first time it's been weird like that... you know... not realistic. Every other time, I was reliving actual events. This had the elements but it was like some kind of surrealistic movie."

She nodded. "So... what do you think it means?"

He gave her a small smile. "Isn't that your job?"

"I'll weigh in after you do. But I'm not always going to be around, Owen. You're gaining the tools to start figuring these things out for yourself."

"Okay..." he let out a quick breath, and plunged in. "If I don't bother trying to analyze the whole hotel thing and just focus on how I felt..." he quirked an eyebrow at her, "because that's what you want me to do, right?"

She couldn't help but smile back at him. He definitely had her pegged. "Right."

"Ok, so... I felt useless and frustrated... and scared. It was all about being helpless, unable to do anything. It was about how I failed to save anyone. It's actually the same damn dream I keep having over and over, with new furniture."

"Was that all you felt?"

Owen thought for a minute. Wasn't that enough? He'd given her three emotions already. But, on second thought, there was one more. "Angry. I was angry."

"At whom?"

"At... oh geez... at myself, I guess. My fucking gloves didn't even get dirty. Here I was with these spotless white gloves, and everyone was all torn up on the other side. And all I could do was stand there."

"What about your dad? What do you think it means... him showing up like that?"

"That's the part that makes no sense to me." Owen said, shaking his head in puzzlement. "I worshipped him when I was a kid. I was the eldest and his only son, so we kind of had a special bond. He never looked at me like that in real life."

"Like what?"

"Like he was disgusted with me. Like I'd disappointed him in the worst way possible. I mean, I got in plenty of trouble as a kid, but this look went way beyond that."

"How did he die?"

"Pancreatic cancer. It was very quick. He was diagnosed, and three months later he was dead. I was in 5th grade when it happened..."

"You said you were the only son. Did he say anything special to you before he died?"

Owen thought back. He remembered those long afternoons: coming home from school and spending the rest of the day at the hospital, staring at school books and blank pieces of loose leaf paper, and hoping the worksheets he was supposed to be doing would magically fill themselves in. How could he possibly put his mind to anything or get his work done in that place that reeked of his father's deterioration? He had nearly flunked several subjects, and if it had gone on any longer than it had, he probably would have had to repeat the year or get some heavy duty tutoring. Though shocking and hard to digest, there had been something merciful in the quick timeframe of his father's demise.

_I haven't really thought about this in years_, he realized. The images from his nightmare brought those horrible months and the miserable aftermath into sharp relief, thrusting him backward in time and reminding him of how gut-wrenching it had been to lose the powerhouse that had been his father.

When he spoke, his voice was wavering with emotion."He told me to… to take care of my mom and my sisters. Said he wished he could be around to do it himself, but that he knew I was up to the job." Tears were threatening to make an appearance, and Owen fought them back. "That was one of the last things he said to me before he stopped talking altogether..."

Noticing his distress, Dr. Wyatt spoke very gently, "And did you... take care of them, I mean?"

He took a steadying breath. "As best I could. One of my sisters was in kindergarten, and the other was only in 2nd grade. I was a kid myself. I tried my best to be grown up for my mom... and I stayed local for college even though I really wanted to go away..."

"So you became the man of the house...?"

"In a manner of speaking, yeah, I did."

"At what... age ten? Eleven?"

Owen nodded.

"Is there a stepdad?"

"No," Owen shook his head. "He was the love of her life. My mom never remarried - never even dated."

"So why do you think he appeared in your nightmare this time, Owen? What's the connection?"

"Does there have to be one? Couldn't it just be a coincidence? Stevens was there, too."

"You just went to her funeral. It's pretty easy to figure out why your mind would lump her in with all the dead people. I think your dad's appearance is much more than that."

"I looked at an old photo of me and my dad with Cristina last night. Maybe I was just thinking about him?"

"It's possible, but not likely. He's too important a figure to just show up without a good reason." She waited a beat to see if he'd respond, then continued. "Let's look at this a little differently... Why did you go into medicine?"

"I... I just knew it was what I wanted to do."

"When did you know it?"

"It was... it was after he died, I guess. I felt so helpless during his whole illness. He was sick, and there was nothing I could do. I couldn't stand it. I wanted there to be something I could do." His brain suddenly flashed to Cristina, telling him about her dad in the on-call room, about how she'd chosen medicine after not being able to save her father during the car accident that took his life. This was a connection he hadn't made until now - how alike they were even in this.

"So, let's stop talking for a second, Owen. Just be with it and think. These dots are pretty easy to connect - ­ at least from where I'm sitting. I think this is big, and I'm willing to bet you can figure this out for yourself if you give it a minute."

Owen shifted on the couch and stifled the flash of frustration he felt. Why couldn't she just tell him what she was thinking? It's what he was paying her for. He stared at his hands and went back over the nightmare, reliving the moment when his father showed up and stared at him as he stood impotently on the safe side of those massive glass doors, incapable of saving his buddies. When the light bulb went off, he felt stupid not seeing it sooner.

"There was nothing I could do... not then, and not in Iraq. It was that same feeling of helplessness in the face of utter disaster..."

She nodded approvingly. "Exactly. And was it reasonable for you to expect there would be something you could do to save your father?"

"Of course not. I was ten."

"And how did the ten-year-old handle the two opposing messages you got, Owen?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You got two messages from him... and from his death. One was that you had the power to take over in his place, and the other was that you were powerless to save him. That's a lot for a ten-year-old to digest, don't you think?"

"I suppose. I've never thought about it before."

She pursed her lips and continued. "Did you blame yourself for his death at all?"

"No... but on the other hand, I recall thinking that if I'd just loved him more, or been better somehow, maybe he would have had the strength to fight it harder... maybe he could have made it. As a doctor... as an adult... I know this was impossible, but at the time it seemed logical."

"Because you'd gotten that mixed message, Owen. He empowered you and disempowered you at the same time."

"Okay, I think I get that. So, where does that leave me?"

Wyatt raised her eyebrows, and her small smile was full of compassion, "Between the proverbial rock and a hard place, perhaps?"

Owen nodded as the concept began to sink in.

"It's a piece of the puzzle, Owen, a big one. You experienced something as a ten-year-old that's kept you stuck emotionally. Your rational self knows the truth, but emotionally you're still stuck in a ten-year-old frame of reference."

"Hang on." He was feeling kind of offended. "Are you saying I'm acting like a child?"

"No, not at all, but you had a traumatic experience at ten that colored your perceptions. Your father died. You couldn't save him because... well... because nobody could. But in your mind you thought you should have been able to, and you felt helpless. And at the same time, he gave you an immense responsibility - to watch over your family and take his place - basically telling you that you **did** have the power. Of course he did that out of love, and because that's something that fathers often say to sons in circumstances like those, but it would be a lot to expect a ten-year-old to sort all that out."

"But I'm not ten now."

"No, you're not, but childhood traumas - and the death of a parent is as big as they come - can cause us to keep revisiting that wound when something similar comes up. In this case, the common denominator is that mixed message of empowerment and helplessness. As a grown man, you were a seasoned and capable doctor, yet at the same time you were helpless to save your friends. It's the same dynamic you experienced when you were ten, even if it's not the same situation. Your subconscious connects these two because it sees the resemblance, even if you're not consciously aware of it."

"So how does this help me, exactly... knowing this?"

"That ten-year-old is still in there, Owen. He's a part of you, and like all kids, he'll get your attention one way or another. I know this sounds kind of strange, but you have to give him what he needs to get him to settle down."

"And what does he need?"

"I don't know for sure, but I can guess. He probably needs to be let off the hook in some fashion. The only way you're going to know for sure is to talk to him yourself."

He looked at her like she was the one who should be sitting on the couch. "Come again?"

"Just keep him in your thoughts, Owen. Mull it over. When you have a quiet minute, try and put yourself back in his shoes and see what he wants. He'll tell you."

They had started their session five minutes late, and now they were running over beyond his lunch hour. To his relief, Owen's beeper went off. He'd had enough for one session anyhow, and this inner child stuff was heading into territory he'd always considered psychobabble. He glanced at the beeper to see that he had a trauma rolling in. "I have to go. Are we done?"

"For now, yes. I'm glad you asked to see me today, Owen. This was a really good session. I know it might feel like a step backward to be having a nightmare again, but your subconscious knows you're ready to move forward, and it's giving you more material to work with now. This is a good thing, even if it probably feels lousy."

Owen met her gaze and gave a resigned sigh, "Two steps forward, one step back, right Doc?"

"Exactly."

------------------------

The rest of his shift went relatively smoothly, and when he was done he stopped by O'Malley's room to check on him. He was still intubated, still out of it most of the time, but his vital signs were strengthening and his color looked better. Owen was even more convinced than he'd been yesterday that he had turned a corner and was going to pull through. He said a quick hello to Amanda, who was fast becoming a fixture at the hospital, and offered to sit with George for a few minutes so she could go and get some dinner.

This was the first moment of peace and quiet Owen had had all day. As he sat in a chair by the bed and looked at George's sleeping face, he took some time to ponder his session with Dr. Wyatt and the insights that had been spinning around in his head since their talk. Seeing George doing better, thinking about his nightmare and the helplessness he'd finally acknowledged, the only feeling he could identify right now was one of gratitude. But why? Why would seeing O'Malley lying here, fighting for his life, probably permanently disfigured and possibly disabled, cause him to feel that way?

Searching for answers, his mind went back over the past few days: the emergency when it had seemed George was bleeding out, the white powder, the discovery of the shard of glass... During the time since he'd identified O'Malley's innate talents in trauma, Owen had begun to consider him, if not a friend, at least a very valued student and somewhat of a protégé. On the day he had enlisted, he had also become a fellow soldier, in spite of never having set foot on a military base. The commitment had been there, the desire to serve his country - that same selfless idealism that had grabbed Owen by the balls so many years ago and sent him to the recruitment office - and this bound them together in a way he had not experienced since his days in Iraq. And so, unlike most everyone who blasted through those double doors on a gurney, this one had been personal. And unlike the last time he'd been faced with saving fellow soldiers who meant something to him, this time he'd most likely been successful. Did this one success make up for that last battlefield full of failures? Perhaps not, but it was a start. Yes, these were small steps, but significant ones nonetheless.

And it hit him.

Owen Hunt hadn't realized until this moment that in saving George O'Malley, he was also saving himself.

----------------

He was so engrossed in his thoughts that it took him a second to look up when Cristina entered the room. She, too, had felt compelled to stop by and check on George on her way out. He had intended to seek her out and see if she wanted to go for a drink, but he'd gotten so lost in contemplation that the time had slipped away from him. He was glad her path had led her here so he could get another chance at having her company for at least a few hours.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked.

"Yeah. I could definitely use one."

"Tough day?"

"Well, with Izzie gone, and George out of commission, we're short two residents, even with Alex back. I felt like I needed to be in at least three places at once every second. Had to take over a few of their interns, too... So yeah, tough day."

Owen nodded his understanding, then stood up and acknowledged Amanda as she re-entered the room. She hesitated a moment before speaking. "Uh... Dr. Hunt, can you tell me anything about how he's doing? I mean, I know I'm not family or anything, but..."

Owen could sense her discomfort and decided to spare her the need to explain any further. "He's looking better and better, Amanda. I really think he's going to make it. Why don't you go home and get some rest?"

"I will. His brother is coming back in about a half hour, and then I'm going home." She fidgeted uncomfortably. "I don't think they know quite what to make of me... his family. I mean, I didn't even know him. They don't really get why I'm still sitting here every day."

"And why are you?" Cristina broke in.

Amanda looked at her quizzically. "What would you do, Dr. Yang? If someone did something so huge for you, gave you everything they had ..." Cristina looked up and caught Owen's eye as Amanda continued to speak. "If someone with a heart like that - a hero, really - was injured... Would you walk away?"

Cristina returned Owen's gaze with a slight curve of her lips, the words reverberating inside her, radiating outward in a warm glow of empathy and recognition.

"No," she said simply. "No, I wouldn't."

------------------

"You're awfully quiet this evening." They were both nursing a beer, sitting by themselves at a table amidst the usual hubbub at Joe's.

"What? Sorry." Owen had been staring off into space and returned his attention to Cristina. "I've got a lot on my mind. Had a pretty intense session with the shrink during lunch."

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

He looked at her in surprise, a disbelieving half-smile lighting his face. "Seriously?"

Cristina stifled the small giggle that threatened to surface at hearing that expression coming from his lips. Owen's use of the vernacular was an encouraging sign that he was starting to feel a part of the Seattle Grace culture. "Seriously what?"

"Seriously... you're asking me to talk about what went on in the session? You've asked me how it went before, but never any specifics. I mean, I've told you a few things sometimes, but you've never asked."

"Is my asking a problem?"

"No. Not at all. It's just that I've always assumed you didn't really want to hear the details. Every time I've mentioned the sessions it's been kind of uncomfortable between us."

_Maybe so,_ Cristina acknowledged to herself. "Well, I'm asking now."

"Ok. Um... yes. I'd like to talk about it... but not here. It's too public. I know Torres is off tonight, so how about my place? I'll pick up a pizza on the way home."

Pedestrian as it was, the way to Cristina's heart was paved with Chinese take-out and pizza. "Add a bottle of wine to that, and I'm in. Let's go."

As they ventured out into the mist, Owen put his arm around Cristina's shoulders and pulled her close. She looked up at him and smiled. It was still hard to believe that they had reached this stage in their relationship and could now enjoy some of those conventional gestures that had eluded them until very recently. Owen felt good about just going with his impulses, not holding back the things he'd itched to do for so long. When they arrived at the point in their path where one direction led to Cristina's apartment and the other to Owen's truck, he stopped and turned her to face him.

"Before we go, I want us to be really clear on something. If you end up staying over, I'm sleeping on the couch."

Cristina gave him a saucy look and exaggeratedly sniffed her armpit. "Is it that bad?"

He smiled at her indulgently but persisted. "You know what I mean."

Undaunted and sporting a nice beer buzz, Cristina was in no mood to spoil it with another reminder of the one part of their relationship that wasn't working. She reached up and put her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a quick kiss that sparked a pool of dormant fuel just waiting for a light. Owen drew her into this arms, and their tongues began to dance as their hands revisited terrain that had lain neglected for far too long. Cristina could feel his arousal growing between them. The question of **if** she was staying over was rapidly becoming purely academic.

"God, I've missed you," he whispered as he nibbled her ear, his hot breath making her want to locate the back seat of the nearest unlocked car. A wolf whistle from across the street, accompanied by the alcohol-fueled admonishment to "Get a room!" finally broke them apart, and Owen nodded in the direction of her apartment.

"Need anything from up there?"

She gave him a playful pat on the butt, "I think I have everything I need right down here."

He smiled but she caught the twinge of hesitation in his expression. "Owen, you don't have to keep making an issue of it. I'm not an idiot. Believe it or not, you're not the only one who learns from his mistakes."

His eyes searched hers for clarification."And which mistake is that?"

"The one where I put myself in danger just so I could be with you. I like my life, Owen. I'm not about to jeopardize it - even for you. Even if you wanted to sleep in the same bed with me right now, I wouldn't do it. I'm not ready."

"Okay," he let out a breath and took her hand, heading them both in the direction of his truck, "that's all I needed to hear."

-------------------

She hadn't noticed the fireplace on her first couple of visits to his apartment, which was understandable since it was in his bedroom, not the living room. "Hey you've been holding out on me," she protested when she finally saw it on her first thorough inspection of the place.

"I've never used it, but I have firewood. Want me to light it up?"

"Does a surgeon wear scrubs?" she retorted.

"Well, not ALL the time..." he gave her a suggestive look and she responded with a swat to his arm. Owen knelt down and began to build a fire with the logs and newspaper he kept in a bin in the corner. Why hadn't he lit the thing up already? Probably waiting for the right moment, and this felt like it. There was a soft rug in front of the hearth, and Cristina sank down on it. Owen grabbed a couple of sofa cushions from the living room and handed her one so she could lean back comfortably against the foot of the bed, propping the other one up for himself. Once he got the fire going he went back to the kitchen, returning with the pizza box, some paper plates, the wine bottle, and a corkscrew. He uncorked the bottle, then realized he'd forgotten glasses and began to get up before Cristina stopped him. She relieved him of the bottle and took a long drink directly from it, then handed it back to him. "Forget the glasses. This is fine." Owen looked at her appreciatively. He liked that she didn't mind slumming a bit.

The fire was the only light in the room, and it created the perfect ambiance for the sharing of private matters. Owen began to speak, telling her about the nightmare and the subsequent realizations he'd come to in Wyatt's office. When he finished, they were both silent for a moment before Cristina spoke. "I meant to say something to you last night, but it wasn't the right time. I hadn't realized until I saw that picture at your mom's house that we were both members of the club."

"The club? What club?"

"The Dead Dads Club. That club that no one really understands until they're in it." Owen nodded imperceptibly and turned to look at her, his eyes narrowing. He hadn't thought she could be any more beautiful to him than she already was; but sitting there in the firelight, her face softened by the warm glow and her hair glistening with reflected sparks, she took his breath away. "We were both about the same age when we lost our dads," she continued quietly, "so I get it, Owen, I really get it." She had been staring at the fire, but now she looked at him. "Were you mad?"

"What d'you mean?"

"Were you mad at him for dying and leaving you? Because I was terrible to my mom for years after that. I mean, she's kind of a pain in any case, but it didn't hit me till I was older that I was taking a lot out on her because... well... because she was _there_. I was really mad at **him**."

Owen was silent for a while as he digested what she'd said. Delving into his emotions was still so new for him; he'd never really considered the question of anger. At the time, it had been all about being strong and helping his mom manage. Now that he thought about it, though, those fights he'd gotten into at school those first couple of years had been pretty pointless. He folded the empty pizza box in half and carefully placed it on top of the dying fire, watching as it caught and flared up before speaking. "Yeah," he finally said, "I never thought about it before, but I think I was."

The look she gave him was at once compassionate and playful. "Sucks being human, huh?"

He gave her a cocky smile and sank his fingers into her hair, pulling her in for a soft kiss. "Well, not ALL the time..." he teased.

"Mmmm," she mumbled and kissed him back, her smile answering his. A loud pop sounded from the fireplace as some of the leftover pizza cheese ignited, and they both laughed as he gently pushed her back onto the rug...

_Learning how to move forward in life is not all that different from learning how to walk. Both take time, and both teach us to persevere in spite of setbacks and frustrations. However, life isn't just about getting from here to there – and we are driven by more than a need to simply put one foot in front of the other. Even if we resent the difficulties inherent in this kind of step-by-step progress, deep down we know that without that struggle, our successes would never be as sweet. For it is when we accomplish our goals - against all odds - that we truly experience the spice in life._

_And sometimes, if we're very lucky, the things that slow us down are the very same ones that send us soaring..._


	6. Your Body is a Wonderland

Written by BNScrubNurse

_Control- it's a funny thing. Most can't stand to be without it. The right time, the right place, the right circumstances- only under certain conditions do we want our lives to occur. It's all about control and whether or not control can be obtained. It's in the moments that we lose control however, that our lives are actually lived- the sudden storm in the middle of your perfect picnic, the power going out in the middle of your thoroughly planned date and leaving you to enjoy your dinner by candle light instead. Sometimes, a loss of control isn't so bad. Sometimes a loss of control is just what need._

Cristina's lips were the eighth wonder of the world as far as Owen was concerned- no, maybe it was her entire body. His hands moved slowly down her sides as she teased him with kisses, nipped gently at his lower lip as her hips pushed upwards into his, grinding sinuously beneath him.

He marveled at the way her body responded each time he found a sensitive spot. It was like the first time for them all over again and under much better circumstances. Now he could show her what happened when he was naked in bed with a woman, when he took a shower with a woman. He had every intention of making her beg for him to never stop.

Slowly his lips drifted downwards to her neck, sucking at the flesh below her ear and his thumbs slowly flicked her nipples through her lacy demi cups. Everything about her was so soft, so incredibly sexy and arousing to him. Heat emanated from between her legs, radiated through his boxers to the point where it was almost torturous- the fire beside them had nothing on what she had to offer him.

Her hand came up lazily to run through his hair as he moved his mouth over her breast, teased her through her bra before finally pulling it away and devouring her flesh. Her back arched off the floor with each pass, the ache between her legs growing more intense with each passing moment. The attention he was paying to her breasts caused her mind to wonder what he could do with his mouth in other places- but tonight she didn't care to find out.

The only thing she wanted was him inside her.

Now.

Owen bucked into Cristina's hands as she grasped him, rubbed him firmly through his boxers. Here he was, trying to take his time with her and show her how much he really loved her and she was going for something a little less passionate, something a little more rushed and raw.

Not that he was complaining.

In one suave movement, he removed her panties and tossed them in the opposite direction of the fireplace before pushing his boxers away. He leaned over her, his muscular biceps bulging as his weight came down on his elbows. "You drive me crazy in the best possible way," He uttered, letting his length slide against her moist folds but not pushing into her.

"You don't drive me crazy at all." She whispered back, trying to remain unaffected. Her hands moved slowly down his sides, gripped his hips and she tugged gently.

With a smirk, he pulled his hips away. "Somehow, I think I do."

Owen watched her face, observed the frustration building to a head as she opened her eyes and opened her mouth to deliver some sort of witty retort and then sheathed himself inside her with one hard stroke. A strangled cry escaped her lips and faded into a moan as he set a hard and steady pace. With each thrust, he grunted against her shoulder only to have those sounds accented by small hiccups of pleasure from her.

Cristina drew her leg upward, letting him slide even more deeply into her. Her fingers dug into his shoulders and she moved her hips upwards to meet his. This was so different than the last time and each of them knew it. This wasn't about saying sorry or worrying about what would happen- it was about what felt good, what felt right.

And God, did it feel right.

His mouth covered her breast once more, marveling at how incredibly responsive her body was to his ministrations. He could feel her walls quaking around him, threatening to give way. Owen took it as a challenge to show her what it was really like to be with him. His hips moved harder into hers and he reached down to rub her clit roughly, pinching it until her walls were tightened around him like a vice and she was begging him not to stop while her hips jerked away.

He had no intentions of slowing down anytime soon.

She cried out, digging her fingernails deep into his arms as he drove into her right through her orgasm. His fingers left her clit and she looked up at him through half lidded eyes, her mouth wide open and chanting his name breathlessly.

Nothing had been wrong with what happened the first time they had sex, but this- this was going to be a habit forming event for both of them. Images of him pressing her into the linen closet door, bending her over his desk, pushing her into a call room and kissing her roughly all invaded her mind and she was even more turned on- even hotter for him.

She'd never be able to get enough of him now.

Owen's lips traveled to her neck and brushed over her ear, "Come back to me," He whispered before kissing just beneath her jaw.

Cristina's eyes moved to his and locked there, meeting his dark gaze. They began to move slowly, in harmony. His lips move down, brushed over hers and then pulled back. They breathed each other's air, swallowed soft whispers, expressions of love.

They came together once more, fingers laced and lips seeking out hungry kisses. Cristina's feet slid slowly over the backs of his calves, her fingers drawing words against his shoulder. She hated how content she felt when she was with him- how perfect they were together.

Things weren't supposed to be like this- Cristina didn't believe in these sort of things, damn him. She didn't want to do the whole love thing again. She couldn't help herself with him though, couldn't control herself when it came to him.

She was okay with losing control when it came to him.

Owen kissed her softly once more before lowering himself onto the floor beside her and pulling her close. He murmured a soft 'I love you' in her ear and closed his eyes even though he knew that they couldn't stay that way.

Soon, though.

Cristina grinned as his fingers slowly traced around her nipple, drawing desire from her body again. She looked over her shoulder just a little, sensing the grin on his face. "I don't know how Barbie ever handled you."

His voice was almost rough as he answered back, "I don't know how anybody ever knew how to handle you."

It took mere seconds for her relaxed muscles to tense slightly and the afterglow to dissipate. That was not a discussion she was willing to have- now or ever. The past was the past and it didn't matter. "Clearly you can, so it doesn't matter." She finally answered, trying to mask the tension in her voice.

Tell them that they're the best and they'll never say another word.

Or so she thought.

"That's all I get?" He teased, scraping her shoulder slightly with his stubble.

"Yes." She answered, too far gone in her own thoughts to enjoy his teasing anymore.

"What if I want more?" He pressed, his fingers slowing and his mind starting to fill with questions. He didn't understand why she was being so short about it.

Cristina shrugged, pulling out of his arms and sitting up. "It's late and we have to work tomorrow. I guess it will have to wait." She searched for her bra and pulled it on, followed by her shirt.

Owen watched in silent astonishment, unable to figure out what had just happened. He'd never really seen her like this before and he was wondering if there was something he was missing. He stood, holding out her jeans for her. "You could stay if you wanted. I'll sleep on the couch."

"No, it's fine. I can go home. I'll get home." She answered, tugging her pants on. "I'll see you at work, okay?"

He nodded only slightly as she disappeared through his living room door without waiting for an answer. Clearly, there was something that he was going to have to find out about sooner or later.

Owen just wasn't sure what it was- and with her reaction, he wasn't really sure that he wanted to know what it was.

x-x-x-x-x

"Don't give me that look," Cristina muttered at George as he looked at her in question. "It's been a long…whatever. And you've been sedated for half of it. I do not feel sorry for you."

She couldn't hide a small smile when she saw him smile with his ET tube still in place. "Shut up." She added, laying out a small syringe and a face mask already hooked up to oxygen.

George's hand reached out to Cristina's and he grasped it tightly. There was a certain fear in his eyes, but acceptance too. He kept trying to mouth something around his tube but she rebuffed him.

"I said shut it, Bambi. You're not going to get that thing out if you don't chill out. You'll be able to talk all you want in a few minutes. Just not to me." She added with a slight smirk before glancing up to see Owen in the doorway.

Her posture straightened immediately and she looked away. "I…Good morning, Dr. Hunt." She mumbled, "Gasses this morning were 7.38, 37, 24. PO2 was 97%. No tachycardia, tachypnea or hypertension during his trials. He is following commands, awake and alert and trying to talk around the tube. We're prepping for extubation now."

Owen gave her a slight nod. "Very good, Dr. Yang. Now please step out."

Cristina's eyes shot up to his, "Excuse me? B-but, Dr. Hunt I've-"

"Dr. Yang, Dr. O'Malley is a colleague, not your patient. I'm telling you that you need to step out. You'll be allowed back into his room during normal visitation hours." He answered, his tone even.

She looked down at George, giving her a half assed grin as much as he could and she sneered at him before walking out of the room.

Meredith stood outside the room, waiting for Cristina and looked at her in question. "What was that all about?"

"Nothing. It's a thing. We're having a thing." Cristina answered, waving her hand dismissively.

"A thing?"

Cristina looked into the room and then over at Meredith. "We slept together last night. But we didn't sleep together. It's the thing. One of the things. Anyway, it started a thing and now we're having a thing."

"He has things. You knew that." Meredith shrugged. She was still having a hard time accepting things, but thought she was doing a fairly good job of keeping it to herself. "Things are okay. Derek and I have things all the time. You understand his things just like he understands yours. It's not a big thing."

"Yeah." Cristina mumbled, watching as the nurse walked to the window and pulled the mini-blind closed.

Alex looked at the two of them with a furrowed brow and narrowed eyes, "Did you two seriously just have a complete conversation with the word thing without really making sense?"

Meredith smirked. "Yep."

"Uh-huh." Cristina added before walking away from the two of them. She knew that Owen didn't really get her things- that's what it was all about. She didn't want her things to be a thing. She was done having things with Owen.

The only thing she wanted was the one thing she thought she'd never really desire- a normal relationship.

Slowly, the day dragged on for Cristina. Each time she found Owen, she darted around a corner- every time she heard his name paged overhead she'd involuntarily cringe. There was this conversation that she knew that she should have with him- but she just didn't want to have it. She didn't want to dredge up the past.

Cristina just wanted to let it all go.

Bringing up the past would bring up a million other questions- she had been upset with him about Beth, about what he'd done to her, how he broke up with her. Cristina didn't want him to feel guilt for his actions with Beth and how they bared a strange similarity to her own circumstances. She didn't want him to ask questions about how she felt about all of it. She didn't want to address the questions about what happened after- who was there (or wasn't there) in between. She didn't want him to worry about being the rebound.

It was a thing that needed to not be a thing.

The distinct sound of Owen clearing his throat behind her drew her eyes up from the chart she was scribbling in and she glanced over her shoulder. "Dr. Hunt." She said quietly before looking back downward.

It looked like she wasn't going to get her wish at all.

"You've been avoiding me." He answered, resting his arms on either side of her and leaning against the counter- in effect, he had her trapped.

"I've been busy."

His eyes trailed up to the clock and then down the darkened hallway. It was late enough that nobody would notice- not that he really cared anyway. He bent and kissed the side of her neck softly. "You've been avoiding me."

Cristina's body relaxed slightly and she closed her eyes. The images of her back pressed into the linen closet door was fresh in her mind. "I've been avoiding you." She echoed, unmoving.

Owen's lips moved upward and he whispered in her ear, "You don't have to talk about it. I don't want you to until you're ready. Whatever it is- it isn't important. What's important is this. Now." He kissed her neck again, just beneath her ear. "Us."

"Mmmhm." She answered, hearing his words but unsure of how to respond to them. She was once again reminded of how painfully perfect he was for her.

His hand slid down her side, gripped her hip tightly, "Let me take you out on a date."

"When?" She asked, her hips moving back slightly into his groin. In her mind she was already trying to find the nearest call room.

He smiled against her skin, "Tonight. Much later tonight if you keep doing that."

"Promise?" Cristina grinned, moving her hips back again and eliciting a small groan from his lips.

"Which part?" Owen uttered, eyeing a linen closet across the hall and trying to figure out how long it would take them, how much it would throw off his plans. He pulled her harder back against him, glancing down the hallway once more.

"The part where you said the date would be much later." She grinned as his hand splayed across her abdomen, fingertips just barely brushing beneath her breasts.

The harsh shrill of the pager interrupted his answer. He glanced down at the pager and sighed softly. "Unfortunately, I can't promise that."

Cristina turned to face him, masking the disappointment. "You'll make up for it later."

Owen kissed her quickly, "You know I will."

With a grin on her lips, she watched as she walked away and turned to reach back for her chart before pausing, "Hey."

He turned to glance at her, "Yeah?"

She flashed him a mischievous grin before answering him. "Make sure that Dr. Goodtimes stays home, okay?"

A small chuckle escaped his lips and then he turned to leave. He wouldn't make that mistake again- Owen made it a practice to learn from all of his mistakes, even the stupid ones.

x-x-x-x-x

"If that's the dress you're going to wear, I don't know why you're bothering with wearing clothes in the first place." Meredith teased as she watched Cristina tugging at a silver halter style dress with the tag still attached.

"You? Not helping. You're supposed to be helping." Cristina muttered, awkwardly bending her arms behind her to undo the small zipper at the small of her back.

"I told you that I like the green one. And then the red one. And then the black one. You're the one acting like you actually have a drop of estrogen in your system."

"I am not." Cristina snapped, offended that she would even suggest it before she went back to the black dress.

Meredith watched in amusement as fabric flew around furiously. She'd never seen her like this before. "So, where are you going? Someplace special?"  
"I don't know."

"Wait, let me get this straight, you're freaking out and not having estrogen attacks and you don't even know where you're going. What if you don't even need to wear one of these things?" She questioned, picking a white dress up from the floor, cringing at the design and then tossing it aside. "You could just be going to Joe's for all you know."

"We go to Joe's all the time." Cristina retorted, finally settling on the green dress. She ran her hands down her side, got her finger snagged on the tag and then tugged it out, leaving a green thread sticking out from the side, "Dammit. I hate this. I hate the dating thing. We're past the dating thing. Dating is for..getting laid. We're past that part."

"Really?" Meredith questioned, "And what part are you on?"

Cristina looked at her. She hadn't ever really talked to Meredith about Owen- especially since she still wasn't his biggest fan. "I'm on the part that doesn't involve dating. The part that involves going home and eating take out and not finding a damn dress to wear."

"Sounds to me like you're ready for the part where you live together. Where you go home together and hang out and never go anywhere. Kind of like you were with-" Meredith started, but was interrupted by a knock at the door.

With a glare on her face, Cristina walked over to the door to the locker room and pulled it open to find Owen in a pair of worn jeans that accentuated the best parts of his body, a black t-shirt and his worn green jacket. She smiled faintly, taking him in.

God, he was hot.

"Hey." She murmured.

"Hey." He answered, smiling. "You ready to go?"

Cristina opened her mouth to answer, smiled faintly and then held up her finger. "Just a second." She closed the door, pulled off the dress and walked back to her locker half naked to pull out her jeans. Completely oblivious to Meredith's knowing smirk, she crammed the newly purchased dresses into a plastic back, tossed them off to the side and picked up her bag. "Later."

With a look of astonishment on her face, Meredith tried to process what was going on with her person as she watched her disappear from the locker room . She didn't know how she had missed it before- what was going on, but she certainly had a million questions that Cristina was going to answer.

Sooner rather than later.  
x-x-x-x-x

"So are you going to tell me where we're going or are you going to drive around aimlessly?" Cristina asked, watching as the city disappeared into the background behind them.

"I'm taking you out on a date."

"Yes, that part I know, but where is this date happening? Where are we going? You're supposed to tell me these things. Right now, if I didn't know any better, I'd say that you were taking me out to the middle of nowhere so that you could kill me." She answered flatly.

Cristina hated surprises.

"Or have my way with you." He answered, casting a dark gaze in her direction.

Suddenly, Cristina was okay with not knowing where they were going. Reaching over, she traced her fingertips against his upper thigh and tried to figure out their destination by the signs. When he pulled off onto a small gravel road that carried them through a wooded grove and into a small open field next to a lake she looked at him with an arched eyebrow, "You do the whole outdoors thing don't you?"

"I do everything." Owen smiled, leaning over to kiss her. "Come on."

The two of them stepped out of the car and Cristina watched as he opened the gate to his truck. He removed a bottle of wine from a box, along with two glasses, a blanket and some carryout containers. With a smile, she took his hand as he extended it and pulled her into the bed of the truck.

"So this is your idea of a date?" She asked, her voice uncharacteristically soft.

"This is my idea of the perfect date." He uttered back, bending his lips to kiss her slowly, almost torturously. "I don't need to take you to a fancy dinner or some upscale overpriced restaurant. Those kind of dates are for trying to impress somebody- trying to win them over."

Cristina nipped playfully at his lower lip, "What? You think you already have me?"

Owen grinned smugly, "I know I do."

A slow ache started in her thighs, spread up into her belly as his hands slid very slowly and very intentionally down her back to grasp her ass tightly. "What are you doing?" She murmured her eyes half lidded and her gaze dark.

"What do you want me to do?" He asked in a near growl against her ear, pulling her body hard against his.

She felt his arousal, hard against her abdomen and a near whimper escaped her lips. She was hesitant but excited all at the same time. Having sex in a linen closet was nothing to doing it out in the open in the back of his truck. Without thinking, she sunk onto the blanket with him, her legs straddling his and her hot center grinding against him.

They were burning hot- their heat seeping from their jeans, one taunting the other. His hands were everywhere- in her hair and tugging gently at the onyx curls, grasping her ass and guiding him harder against his erection in a desperate attempt to relieve the pressure, under her shirt, lifting just high enough for him to push her bra away and savor the sweet flesh of her breast.

He couldn't get enough.

Cristina reached down, unbuttoned his jeans and tugged them down just enough to free his erection and then pulled away from him. She wasn't going to wait any longer. She slipped her jeans away along with her panties and settled back over him, but didn't let him ease inside her. "This is new," She uttered, kissing him slightly.

"I think I already like it," He answered, raising his knees and pulling her legs so they were nearly wrapped around him.

Slowly, he inched inside of her, taking his sweet time to fill her to the hilt. He'd never been so deep inside her, never felt her walls tighten the way they were now and they weren't even moving. Their hips started moving in a perfect synchrony- rocking, crashing, their utterances and cries increasing, carried into the cool Seattle air and mixing with the mist off of the lake.

Owen's mouth covered her breast, delighting in the way that her walls involuntarily quivered with each rough pass of his tongue. Her hips jerked softly against his and she came down harder against him, need driving her actions. He groaned against her skin when she tugged at his light auburn locks with her fingers, held him more steadily to her chest.

Cristina's hand moved to his shoulder and she braced herself against him, slamming herself down against him faster, almost ruthlessly. When he moved his hips upwards as she came down, she moaned his name, begged him not to stop, to move harder.

As much as he loved her on top of him, rocking the way the way they were, it wasn't enough for him or her. Not then. In one swift movement he had her on her back and was driving into her, hammering into her with a ferocity that they both enjoyed.

Within moments, Cristina was dissolving around him with a sexy little whimper that lead him over the edge into his own release. He collapsed over her, breathing heavily against the sated skin of her neck. He paused to kiss below her ear and he smiled, "So far this is the best date I've been on," He whispered with a breathless grin despite the fact she couldn't see it.

"Almost," Cristina answered, mischief lighting up her face.

He pulled back to look at her, "Only almost?"

She nodded, affirming her answer. "I think we need to do that at least two more times before it's the best date that I've ever been on."

With a laugh he rolled off of her, pulled her into his arms to kiss her. "I'm not one to disappoint. I'm dedicated to working all night if I have to. I refuse to be second best."

"All night?"

"All night." He promised, pulling the blanket over the two of them before sliding his hand underneath and stroking the small of her back.

The two lay there like that, food and wine left untouched. For a few moments they laid in silence, watching the stars dance across the night sky and speaking very little. Whatever words needed to be expressed were done so through touch rather than talk. As their hands began roving each other's bodies once more, the loud shrill of a pager disrupted their perfect plans.

Reluctantly, Cristina reached for her pager and fumbled with the buttons until the backlight came on and the words across the screen became apparent-

'George tachypneic. Sats dropping. Reintubating now. Everyone is here. '

Slowly, she put the pager down and laid back against Owen's shoulder, looking up at the night sky. "We need to go. They need us at the hospital." Her tone was somber, the glow that had set her face alight only moments ago now dulled.

"O'Malley?" He asked softly.

Cristina nodded, "Respiratory distress. They're reintubating him now."

Owen pulled her close and kissed her temple. For at least a little while, they had found their escape from the turmoil of the past weeks. For a few fleeting moments, they were happy despite the dark cloud that seemed to be ever present in their lives.

Neither wanted to leave that place.

The trip back to the hospital was one made in silence. When they arrived, they joined a cluster of friends that had become family- watching as one of their own struggled for life. He had been doing so well but now they found themselves wondering if it wasn't that he was improving, only getting better before he went down for good.

Owen stepped out of the room, running his hand through his hair, "He's improved. Sats are still decreased, but they're adjusting the modulation on his ventilator to improve gas exchange."

Cristina stood with Alex and Meredith. What had once been five was now three, and it did not go unnoticed by any of them. They were dwindling- their numbers were dwindling. The chief had said they'd switch to different specialties, that they would quit, be asked to leave.

There was never any mention of dying.

Dying was not an option.

Seeing the disappointment in their faces, Owen did his best to distract them, "He kept talking about an elevator. What is he talking about?"

Alex's brow furrowed, "Heart surgery. He did heart surgery in an elevator when Burke was still head of cardio."

Cristina visibly flinched at the name, but quickly found composure again. "The power went out."

Owen gave a slight nod, "That must be it. Stevens was there?"

Meredith shook her head, "N-no. She wasn't there. It was Alex and George in the elevator. Not Izzie."

"That's strange," Owen said, "Maybe it was the hypoxia. He said that Izzie was on the elevator, something about she was waiting for him. Or helping him. I can't remember."

The three of them seemed to shake their heads in unison, their eyes focused anywhere but at another person. Without words, they slowly started to break apart, head in separate directions. As much as they needed to be together, they couldn't be. Being together was a bitter reminder that they'd never really be together again.

They'd never feel whole.

Owen paused, waiting for the group to completely disband before moving to comfort Cristina- he knew that she wouldn't want that in front of her colleagues. She was too strong for those things, or at least she wanted them to believe that.

A trauma being paged overhead changed his plans.

Cristina seemed to perk up momentarily and was ready to run towards the pit when he stopped her. "Grey, let's go. " Owen called out, running away without Cristina.

"Wait, Dr. Hunt- I can help."

"No," Owen said firmly, "You can't. Go home, Yang. Get some rest."

"But I'm here-"

"And you shouldn't be. Grey is on call, you aren't. Go home." Before she could argue anymore, he was gone around the corner and she was glaring at the space that he had occupied.

She needed to keep her mind occupied too. It wasn't fair that he could just use work as an escape whenever he wanted and that she had to stay grounded in reality. The walk home seemed colder to her, the streets more empty- Cristina wasn't the type of person who found herself wishing for brighter days typically and she knew that if she was that it meant things were really bad.

Hours later, she was still lying in bed, still wide awake. Sleep had been elusive and she found herself staring at the alarm clock and counting down the hours until she could go to work instead. Her cell phone vibrated against the bedside stand, causing her to jump in her hypervigiliant state. She picked it up and saw a message from Owen, telling her that he was exhausted but thinking of her and that he'd see her in the morning.

Quickly, she dialed his number and waited for him to answer. When she heard his voice on the other line, Cristina smiled softly and then mentally kicked herself for being such a girl with him. "Hey."

He sounded exhausted when he returned her greeting. "You should be sleeping."

"I couldn't. Are you finished up in the OR?" She asked in a quiet voice, nearly soothing.

"Yeah. Seventeen year old boy and a fifteen year old girl. They made a suicide pact if they couldn't be together. Apparently the mother and father found them having sex and separated them so they decided to carry through with it. Nine millimeter gunshot wounds, straight to the heart. Not anatomically, but theoretically. The girl had a nicked atrium and the bullet was lodged in her spinal cord. The boy..I think she pulled the trigger as she was going down. His bullet had an upward trajectory. Tore up the subclavian and jugular, nicked the carotid and was buried halfway into his clavicle. He wouldn't stop bleeding. No matter what I did, he just wouldn't stop bleeding."

His voice was broken and Cristina knew that he had lost the boy. Rather than try to reassure him that there was nothing he could have done, she chose to focus on the positives. "Paralysis?" She asked, referring to the bullet in the spinal column.

"We're not sure. We started her on the dexamethasone protocol, and where she should be paralyzed, she seemed to respond to painful stimulus in her extremities and even withdrew. It's hard to tell right now if it's reflex or purposeful movement. She's pretty sedated." He explained.

"That's good. Maybe she'll be okay." Cristina murmured.

"Will she? He's dead. These kids would have rather been dead than be apart."

Cristina didn't have an answer for him. "I'm sorry that it was so much. I'm sorry that our dated ended early."

Owen smiled slightly, "Me too. I didn't get to keep my promise of all night long."

"Maybe next time," She smirked. "Definitely next time."

"If that's the case, then you should get some sleep so I can keep that promise. It won't work if you're exhausted."

She sighed, "I wish I could. I haven't been able to sleep. I've been staring at the alarm clock and waiting to come to work."

"Why?" He questioned, his brow furrowing in concern.

"I don't know. Just thinking, I guess. I can't stop thinking."

Owen was all too familiar with the feeling. He knew he couldn't stop her from thinking, but he knew that he'd be able to focus her thoughts on something else. "Think about me there," He started in a low voice, a near whisper. "My arms around you."

"Are we naked?" Cristina asked, a playful grin seeping into her voice.

He laughed softly, "That is not what this is. Now hush and listen to me."

"Okay, okay. We're dressed. And you're here and your arms are around me or whatever." Somehow, the word whatever made it less cheesy than she knew it was. If she added whatever, it negated the sickeningly sweetness of the entire conversation.

"My arms are around you and I'm holding you." He continued, "I'm watching you fall asleep, your eyes closed, your breathing evening out." His body ached to hold her, to do everything that he was saying. One day. One day he'd get there. "My fingers are rubbing the back of your hand and I'm kissing your shoulder. We're warm under the covers and we don't have to wake up in the morning. It's just you and me with nothing to do but rest."

As he listened, Cristina's breathing slowed, became more deep and even while her eyelids became heavier. She murmured a response every once in a while, but they were losing coherence as she started to drift off to sleep. The last thing from her lips was a slurred 'I love you' but she didn't hang up the phone. She didn't want to lose the thought of him being there, didn't want to give up the sound of his voice in her ear as she lay in bed. "Owen?"

"Yes, Cristina?"

"I can't wait until we can actually do this." She admitted in a thick voice, heavy with sleep.

Owen longed for the same and he lowered his voice, sensing that he may have already lost her to a peaceful slumber.

"I'll do my best not to make you wait long."

_Control is never achieved when sought after directly. It is the surprising outcome of letting go. Yet in letting go, do we not lose control? Maybe having control isn't the point, maybe letting go of that yearning is. Perhaps the only moment in which we will ever truly be close to having control is the moment that we realize that we'll never be in control at all._


	7. State of Love and Trust

_They say that trust is the foundation of any successful relationship…which is probably why so many relationships are doomed to fail. __It can take years to build, but only seconds to break_._ As surgeons, the difference is that patients don't have those years to build up their trust in us—they have to trust a degree in a shiny frame and a white lab coat instead. Yet we can still only control so much…only do so much…and when we fail it disappoints them just as much as any other betrayal. And amidst that pain and confusion, we start to wonder why we trust at all in the first place._

Cristina felt her hand growing uncomfortably warm from two the scalding coffees she was holding, so she quickly placed them both on a nearby counter and blew on them lightly. She had woken up with the warm memory of Owen talking her to sleep, but she soon recalled his rough shift in the ER and how he had been forced to spend another night at the hospital. Owen soon met her with a deflated walk replacing his normal swagger. Cristina could tell that he was running on fumes, yet he wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her neck after mumbling a good morning in her ear.

"I brought you a legal addictive stimulant," Cristina said, handing him the cup and briefly stroking his cheek with her hand.

"You're a saint." Owen said, exhaustion permeating his voice. He was showing the effects of more than just physical fatigue.

"Saint…you know, I've never gotten that one before?" Cristina smirked and rubbed his arm while he quickly downed some coffee. "You look tired."

"I am." Owen sighed. "But seeing you helps…a lot." He gave her a weak smile but it was interrupted by yet another trauma page. "God, when it rains it pours…" Owen turned to jog down to the trauma bay but Cristina grabbed his arm and turned him back. She gave her surroundings a quick glance, but soon realized that her actions so far had thrown any kind of secrecy out the window anyway, so she kissed him.

"Hang in there …once you rest up, I've got plans that will guarantee you never call me a saint again." Owen let a breath to steady himself and bit his lower lip as he slowly forced himself to turn around and walk away. He glanced back as he turned a corner to see Cristina bouncing on her toes before throwing him a wink.

Ten minutes later, Cristina groaned after Bailey gave out assignments for the day—she was on Shepherd's service. Even though she had come to appreciate Derek the tiniest bit more after he had helped Owen through the worst of his rough patch, she still couldn't help but be annoyed with him. Whenever they worked together, he always wanted to talk about personal crap and Cristina was never in the mood.

"Dr. Yang, looks like we'll be working together today." Derek smiled as he approached her in the hallway and she greeted him by rolling her eyes. "You look good…well-rested."

"Um…thank you?" Cristina could never understand why people felt the need for small talk—especially at work. Or why after all this time, Derek was still trying to get on Cristina's good side, when he knew it would never happen.

"How's Major Hunt doing?"

"Good," Cristina answered curtly. She continued to scan their patient's information as a way of avoiding further conversation.

"He's been sleeping?" Derek persisted. Cristina stopped and snapped the binder shut. Turning to face Derek she un-clicked her pen and put it into her pocket.

"Why are you asking _me_?"

"Well, you're his girlfriend…"

"Why don't you ask _him _about it. I never ask you about Meredith. Even when we were fighting."

"I'm not her girlfriend." Derek replied smugly, crossing his arms across his chest with another smile. Damn, he was annoying.

"Could've fooled me." Cristina turned on her heel and entered the patient's room behind her. Derek gave an exasperated sigh and followed in after her. Inside, they had a seventy-four year old woman with a brain aneurysm that was scheduled to be removed the next morning.

"Good morning, Ms. Sabatini" Derek greeted, walking closer to her bedside.

"Please, call me Janet" she said, putting her crocheting on the table next to her.

"Janet." Derek corrected with a trademark smile. "I'm Dr. Shepherd. And this is Dr. Yang," he said as he motioned to Cristina. Cristina nodded politely to the woman in acknowledgement. "We will be performing the surgery on you tomorrow." Derek went on to give the patient a simple yet accurate explanation of the surgery and just as he began explaining the possible post-surgical complications that may arise, he looked down at his beeping pager. "I'm sorry. If you'll excuse me, we have an emergency down in the ER. I'll have Dr. Yang finish and she'll answer any of your questions. I'll be back later today to check in on you and answer anything you may want to ask me specifically."

"Yes, that's fine," Janet said amicably. Derek nodded to Cristina and quickly walked out of the room. Cristina began spouting off the possible complications from exactly where he had left off. However, once Cristina had mentioned the possibility of memory loss or death, the woman was no longer listening as she had started muttering to herself nervously. At first Cristina tried to continue talking over her mumbling, but eventually she stopped.

"I should have told him…he needs to know…I should tell him…I have to…"

"Ma'am?" Cristina asked, unsure of just how unstable the patient was at the moment.

"I can't do this. I have to tell him before the surgery…I could die." Immediately Cristina realized that the woman might be alluding to some undisclosed medical condition or drug habit which could cause complications with the surgery.

"Is there something you need to tell Dr. Shepherd before surgery? It really is important that we have all your information before doing any procedure."

"No." the woman snapped out of her reverie for a moment. "Not Dr. Shepherd. Dr. Yang…I need you to call my ex-husband."

Derek and Owen were both leaving the ER after stabilizing the female victim that had T-boned at an intersection. She had suffered massive head trauma, but at the moment it looked like she might make it out okay.

"Cristina's on my service today," Derek told Owen with a sigh. "I tried to make small talk and she all but tore my head off." Derek continued. "I honestly don't know why I try anymore…your girlfriend's quite a piece of work."

"I know" Owen laughed. He couldn't deny that his heart got a little lighter whenever someone referred to Cristina as his girlfriend. It also made me smile to know that to everyone else saw her as tough and competitive, but when she was with Owen she became someone much softer. "She made fun of your hair again, didn't she? I told her that was low…we all know how sensitive you are about it."

"You're an ass. You two deserve each other," Derek noted, shaking his head with a smile. He gave Owen a smack on the shoulder and turned to head down the other hallway. As he walked away, Owen swore he saw Derek give his hair an once-over in one of the windows.

As Owen continued on towards the psychiatry wing, he saw Cristina in a quiet hallway sitting at a desk while on the phone. Her face immediately told him just how annoyed she was. He walked around behind her and lightly pulled her back to lean against him. She let out a sigh.

"Yes…I underst—…look, I'm calling for a patient, Janet Sabat—I understand that she is no longer fam—…she has to go into surgery tomorrow but she's refusing unless you—" Cristina raised an eyebrow and held the phone a good six inches from her ear as the man on the phone gave his lungs some exercise. She turned to look up at Owen and shook her head as if she were going to murder someone. He gave her shoulders a light rub, but after a few more seconds the last of her patience to disappeared and Cristina brought the phone back toward her face. "She wants to see you before surgery, so if you give a damn about her just come in!" she yelled and with that she hung up the phone and slumped in her chair..

"Don't you love your job?" Owen said, sitting next to her and leaning his elbow on the counter.

"When I have to do crap like this, I have to remind myself why I do: blood and guts and gore…" Cristina chanted. She swiveled her chair around to face him. "How's your head trauma? I know it was you that took Shepherd from me. Thank you." Owen laughed.

"She's stable for now." Owen scooted his chair closer to her and placed his head lightly on her shoulder for a minute. "I've got a session with Wyatt in fifteen minutes. I'm not sure how it's going to be, I'm too tired for her right now…" Cristina leaned her head on his gently. As she did, her mind wandered to her patient. She sighed. Cristina didn't want to end up like Janet. She didn't want to hold onto some secrets and have it eat away at her relationship with Owen the way they had with Janet and her ex-husband. Cristina would lean into the fear and trust Owen to handle her story...soon. She really wanted to let him in…but as much as she would deny ever being afraid of anything—this scared her.

"Make sure you get some sleep tonight," Cristina told him, closing her eyes for a few seconds. Owen closed his eyes as well and pictured how it would be when the two of them would be able to lay down together in peace. He ached for it. For a simple comfort that, after everything, they deserved to enjoy. Sometimes it felt like his body was only ever completely at ease when Cristina was around…and he needed to know that someday they would be able to revel in that. He opened his eyes and kissed her cheek.

"I will. I'll see you later" Owen sat up and continued his walk towards Dr. Wyatt's office, now determined to get some answers on where exactly his therapy was going.

"Ms. Sabatini," Cristina said, entering the patient's room once again. "I called your ex-husband. I told him the situation…but I don't know if he's going to come." The woman nodded and looked out the window. Cristina was putting it delicately—there was no way in hell the man she spoke to would be coming into the hospital.

"It's my own fault," Janet concluded, a tear leaking out of her eyes. Cristina stood awkwardly in the doorway unsure of whether the patient was talking directly to Cristina or more to herself. "Do you know what it's like to keep a secret, Dr. Yang?" Cristina took this direct address as an indication that she would have to stay and hear this story out.

"Don't we all?" Cristina said, trying forcibly to repress memories of shaking hands as she stepped further into the room.

"Of course. Well, I'm not sure how long you kept your secret, Dr. Yang, but I kept mine for 58 years. James…the man you called…he's the love of my life. I was never close to my real family. _He_ was my family. And I lost him because I didn't trust him enough with the truth. Only now that I might die, am I actually willing to let him know what happened. Now that I have nothing left to lose."

Cristina pulled out a chair and sat down facing the bed, understanding Janet's need to confess to someone. Maybe if she heard her out, she would be willing to go into surgery knowing that someone out there knew her story—people find that comforting.

"But he's not coming. He's not coming because 57 years ago, I got pregnant. Right before he went off to Korea to fight. He didn't know, and I couldn't tell him. I was way too young to have a child, and I was afraid he'd want to keep it. At the same time, the idea of killing the baby that I'd made with James would have destroyed me…so I gave him up for adoption. I thought I was doing James a favor by keeping the burden to myself…" Janet's voice cracked when she finished her last sentence. "In the end, James did make it home…and the first few years of readjusting were so rough that I didn't even think about telling him because we had such a delicate balance. But it all came back when we found out that I couldn't carry a child to term…a complication from the first pregnancy…and from then on I felt a distance growing between us. He must have resented me for not being able to have children or maybe the secret was beginning to wear on me more as time went on…he just couldn't take it anymore. Every day, he would ask me what was wrong, why I didn't smile as much anymore, why I never talked to him like I used to…"

Janet sighed and let out a sob of anguish. Cristina shifted uncomfortably and handed Janet a tissue from her bedside table. "The fear of the secret getting out just made me shut him out more and more. I could never let him in like I used to. Do you know what the last thing he said to me was?" Cristina shook her head slightly. "'If thirty years isn't long enough to earn your trust, then I have no reason to stay"…but that wasn't true, I loved him. In my mind, I loved him too much to trust him."

And with that, Janet went silent. Cristina stood up and just barely brushed Janet's hand.

"I hope he comes," Cristina knew that man was way too angry to come, but she thought this woman deserved to clear the air with the love of her life.

It was less than an hour later that Cristina heard that Janet had died from a sudden pulmonary embolism. Cristina bit her lip and went on with her day.

"Owen, is there anything in particular you'd like to discuss today?" Dr. Wyatt asked, after discussing some of the now routine topics of their meetings.

"Dr. Wyatt…I really do appreciate the progress that we've made over the past couple months. I do feel different—lighter and closer to how I was before the attack. But what I really want…what I _need_ to know…is if I'll ever be able to trust myself to sleep next to Cristina. Or if she'll ever be able to trust me. It hurts both of us that we can't be together that way and I just need to know that we can get there someday…and preferably soon." Owen sighed and looked at Dr. Wyatt with cautious hope.

"Owen, honestly, it could take any amount of time for the two of you to reach that point. Your body betrayed the both of you that night, so naturally it could take a long time to rebuild that trust again." Owen shook his head in dismay, letting out a breath he didn't know he had been holding.

"I was afraid you might give some bullshit answer like that." Owen said, with more bite than intended.

"But there are steps. Small steps that are both safe and will slowly help both of you rebuild what you've lost. Cristina can sleep next to you while you stay awake, so her body can get used to letting itself relax while yours is next to her in bed. And you should sleep next to Cristina while she's awake…it's important for her to observe you sleeping peacefully next to her. People believe what they can see—especially someone like Cristina, whose mind is so scientific."

"Okay…that all makes sense. And we can start these steps now if we want?"

"Whenever you're both comfortable. It sounds like you are both very eager to get the process started…and as you said, you've made a lot of progress in the sessions we've had. I think starting now is okay as long as you don't get frustrated with yourself or with Cristina if things take longer than you expect. Also, Owen…" Dr. Wyatt shifted slightly in her chair. "I think that Cristina should have a couple therapy sessions of her own. Though judging from my experience with her, she will probably resist it at first. I'll give you some recommendations for other therapists in the area in case you convince her to try it out. I think it would help both of you a lot."

Cristina sighed as she raised her arm and erased the would-be surgery from the board. As she lowered her hand she felt a light tap on her shoulder.

"Dr. Yang?"

"Yes…" she turned to see an elderly man. "Oh, sir, you shouldn't be back here. This is only for hospital staff only."

"Oh, that nurse over there is very busy, and someone told me that it was you that called my home earlier?"

"Oh…yes." Cristina's guard suddenly went up as she recalled the ringing in her ears from that phone call. "You seem to have calmed down."

"Oh, I apologize. That was my brother…he's very protective of me. He's obviously not that fond of Janet anymore…"

"I see…" Cristina cleared her throat. "So you came to see her after all?"

"I did. You said she wanted to see me before surgery…" he shrugged. "It's been a while. It might be nice to see her."

"Maybe you should sit down." Cristina said, motioning to a nearby chair. He waved her off and Cristina took a deep breath. "Janet died just about an hour ago. It was unrelated to the brain aneurysm—very sudden." James cleared his throat but remained standing.

"Can I see her?"

"You want to—um…alright" Cristina led him to her room and helped him into a chair. Cristina was surprised at how well he managed to keep himself composed after hearing the news, but as soon as he touched Janet's hand, tears spilled down his face. Cristina began to wonder if she should tell Janet's secret—give her some peace. She had wanted to clear the air and maybe knowing that he had a son out there and happy would help give James some peace too. But then again, Cristina did not want to be overstepping bounds. James let out one loud sob and suddenly she couldn't stop herself.

"She had something to tell you…a secret. It was tearing her up and that's why she had to see you before surg—"

"I know." James said, kissing Janet's hand. "I know. I know everything." Cristina was taken aback and felt her mouth fall open in shock. "The doctor told me that we couldn't have a baby because of a complication that happened during a previous pregnancy. He figured I already knew…" He rubbed Janet's hand against his cheek. "I figured she hadn't told me because I…was different right after Korea. And then after the failed pregnancy I thought it was just too raw for her to talk about…I wanted to give her some space. But when months turned to years, she still never told me. The secret was eating her up and shutting me out. I tried desperately to get her to open up, so she could be free from it…and things could go back to how they were. But she just didn't trust me enough. It hurt more every day." Cristina handed James a tissue and shifted her weight awkwardly. "I had promised her. I promised her that we could work through anything…after the way she waited for me when I was at war, I said that as long as we believed in each other, we'd get through anything. She knew that I could never leave her."

"But you _did _leave her" Cristina said sharply. "You could have told her you knew and that it was okay, but you left her instead." Cristina was breathing hard but stopped herself because she knew she was getting into dangerous territory.

"You must not know how much it hurts when someone you love doesn't trust you. I would have done anything for her…all I needed her to do was open up to me, to trust me enough to…She was the love of my life, but that just made it hurt even more." James cleared his throat and looked at Cristina. "Now if you wouldn't mind, Dr. Yang…I'd like to be alone with my wife." Cristina pursed her lips.

"I'm sorry for your loss," she said and walked out the door. She continued down the hall looking for Owen. It was just one of those days at Cristina just wanted to have Owen wrap his arms around her. She knew he had been tired, so after checking a couple on-call rooms, she found him asleep and snoring lightly. After lightly brushing away some hair from his forehead, she sat herself on the edge of the bed. He was so calm and Cristina was glad to see him getting some rest. Owen trusted her…he believed in her…he was waiting for her. Cristina took his hand in hers, noting that he still hadn't stirred, and sandwiched it between her own. She felt it wouldn't be long before she would tell him all about Burke and everything that had hurt her in the past. She trusted Owen—he had her heart now and there was no looking back.

_So what is it that compels us to put our trust in others? We all know that it leaves us open to the painful sting of betrayal. We know it makes us vulnerable. But maybe we trust because we know, deep down, that the alternative is so much worse. Keeping ourselves at a safe distance from others also leaves us in an isolation that is just as far away from love. We have to trust…to give someone the power to hurt us, but believe that they won't…because even though everyone is human and makes mistakes, every now and then we find someone that is worth the risk._


	8. Mother and Child Reunion

This chapter written by Angelamermaid

_As surgeons, we are separated from our patients by cold sharp steel. We use our instruments to make contact with other people, always just a little removed. And we do our best work with a weapon in our hands._

"Let's go over this again," Owen said, pacing around the on call room. "Are you sure you want to try this?"

"Yes," Cristina sighed, sipping from her coffee. "You're going to sleep, and I'll stay in the same bed as you, as suggested by your shrink, but I'll be awake. We're at the hospital in a neutral environment, not one of our apartments. We're 'resolving trust issues', blah blah blah. What makes you think I'm not ready?"

"You're calling my therapy 'blah blah blah'," he replied. "It's important to me that –"

"I know," she said, placing a hand on his arm. "It is important, I just – don't like talking about stuff."

He smiled softly and kissed her forehead. "Did you – look at the list?"

She scoffed. "The list of therapists that Dr Wyatt suggested? No. It's not for me."

He nodded and shrugged. "Well, let's give this a try." He laid down on the cot. She sat down beside him, holding the medical journal she planned to read. She half-turned and fussed with her pillows.

"I think I need more pillows." Cristina got up and fetched two pillows from the other bed in the room. She sat down and fussed some more. Owen turned on his left side and watched her rearrange them. Finally she spoke.

"Not this way," Cristina said. "I don't want you on my right." She got up.

Owen got off the bed. _Of course_, he thought. _I was on her right the night of the choking. She doesn't want to relive that._

He motioned for her to lie down on the right side, against the wall, and helped her move the pillows. She sat down again and he laid down beside her.

"This isn't right either," Cristina said quietly.

"What?" Owen sat up.

"I'm – not comfortable here. I need room to move."

_She feels trapped_. Owen immediately got off the bed. "This is too soon."

"No, no," she protested. "We can do this. We'll just rearrange the bed." She got up and moved their pillows to the other side of the bed.

Owen laid down against the wall. Cristina sat down on his right and settled herself down with the pillows and her book. He closed his eyes and tried to relax. Cristina briefly stroked his hair, then opened up her book. He concentrated on a breathing exercise.

"Do you think you can make more room?" Cristina asked softly. "This is a small bed."

"That's it," he said, sitting up. "We're not ready." He quickly stepped over her and laid down on the other bed in the room.

"Owen," she complained. "I want to try this. Come back."

He closed his eyes and gathered his thoughts. "You want to, but you're not ready. And your nervousness is making me worry that _I'm_ not ready. Good night, Cristina."

She got off of her bed and walked over to his. "Gimme a good night kiss then."

He chuckled and obliged. She stroked his face and said, "We will get through this."

"I know," he smiled up at her. "Good night."

***

Meredith was drying her arms when Cristina entered the scrub room. "How'd it go last night?"

"It didn't," Cristina sighed, turning on the faucets. "Owen slept in one bed and I read in the other. The bed was too small, I couldn't get comfortable."

"How did he sleep?"

"Like a rock. No nightmares, no night terrors. He drooled."

"That's good. So are you scrubbing in on the quadruple bypass?"

Cristina smiled and nodded. "I _need_ to cut this morning. I'm going to be wielding a scalpel for hours. This is going to be a great day!"

***

Alex Karev was walking through the OR wing when he was surprised to recognize a woman arguing with a nurse.

"Mrs Rubenstein?" he asked, approaching the situation. "Remember me? I'm Alex Karev, one of Cristina's friends."

"I remember," the older woman said, looking at him disapprovingly, as the nurse made her escape. "Can _you_ tell me where my daughter is?"

"She's in surgery," he replied. "She didn't say you were coming…"

"I didn't tell her," Helen Rubenstein explained. "She's always 'too busy' for a visit, so I thought I would surprise her. So I suppose I have to wait hours to see her?"

"She should be done … soon," Alex faltered. His eyes lit up to see a familiar figure walk by. "Dr Hunt! So glad to see you!"

Owen smiled quizzically and walked over. "Dr Karev." Helen arched an eyebrow and looked him up and down.

"You know Cristina's mother, right?" Alex asked, hopefully.

Owen smiled in surprise and extended his right hand formally. "No, I haven't had the pleasure of meeting you, ma'am."

Helen frowned and shook his proffered hand politely. "Who are you?"

"This is Owen," Alex explained. "Owen Hunt."

Helen stared at him. "And who is Owen Hunt?"

Owen coughed nervously. " I'm – dating Cristina. She must have mentioned me … right?"

Helen's mouth puckered in disapproval. "No. I didn't realize she was dating again."

"You two kids have fun!" Alex interjected, clapping Owen on the shoulder. "Nice to see you again!" He hastily left the scene.

Owen smiled in confusion. "Oh. Well, this is a surprise, Mrs Yang-"

"Rubenstein."

"Pardon?"

"My name is Mrs Helen Rubenstein," she corrected him. "Not Mrs Yang."

Owen briefly looked around for Cristina but had no luck. "Sorry, Mrs Rubenstein. I – didn't know that you'd remarried. Or that you were going to visit Seattle"

"I didn't tell Cristina I was visiting," she stated. "She is always too busy for me so I decided to just show up." She looked over Owen again. "She told you about her father?"

Owen nodded.

"But not her stepfather." Helen sighed. "So you're another doctor, huh?"

Owen shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, I'm the Head of the Trauma department here."

"I meant, Cristina is dating _another_ doctor," she clarified. "You are not the first doctor."

"Oh! Well, Cristina has chosen not to tell me about her previous relationships so-"

"Typical," Helen interrupted. "Always so secretive and closed off. This is why I have to drop in unannounced to find out anything about my daughter."

"Well – you must be tired after your flight. Can I buy you lunch?"

She scrutinized his face. "That would be nice."

***

As he sat in the cafeteria with Helen, Owen felt more confused and flustered than he had in his entire life. Cristina's mother was not interested in small talk. She just sipped her tea, maddeningly quiet.

He felt a huge sense of relief when Cristina rushed into the cafeteria, still wearing her scrub cap.

"Mom!" she exclaimed, pulling off her cap and letting her ponytail tumble out. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"You are always so busy, I thought I would surprise you," Helen shrugged. "You should eat something, you're too thin. Have my fries."

Cristina briefly touched Owen's hand as she sat down. "So. You've met." He smiled at her, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

"We were just having lunch, waiting for you." He glanced over at Helen and felt some alarm at the sour expression on her face. _What have I done now?_

Cristina sighed. "How long are you here for?"

"A couple of days," her mother replied. "I have a hotel room so you don't have to put yourself out cleaning up for me."

Owen laughed and choked a bit on his coffee, earning a glare from Cristina. "Oh come on," he teased her, lightly touching her hand. "Your housekeeping skills are not your best quality and you know it."

She rolled her eyes. "I have other priorities."

He grinned as he checked his watch. "Oh – time for my appointment." He stood up and bowed slightly to Helen. "It was very nice to meet you, Mrs Rubenstein. I hope we'll see each other again before you leave."

Cristina smiled slightly and touched his hand as he walked past her. She watched his tall form leave the cafeteria before turning her attention back to her mother.

"You're dating again," Helen observed. "How long has this been going on?"

"A few months," Cristina shrugged, picking up Owen's cup and sipping from it. "We, um, took a break but we're back together now."

"Another hot shot doctor," her mother sighed. "Can't you meet anyone who isn't in medicine?"

Cristina frowned. "Owen was in the Army when I met him, actually – although yes, he's a doctor too. Best trauma surgeon Seattle Grace has ever had. And he's a good mentor."

"Army? Well, that's new."

Cristina nodded. "He served in Iraq and he's a hero, Mom. He came here after he was discharged. And he is not like anyone I've ever dated. Don't judge him by who came before."

Helen raised her eyebrows slightly. "He said you haven't told him who you dated before-"

"Oh you _didn't_," Cristina moaned. "Tell me you didn't fill him in!"

"I didn't," Helen replied smoothly. "I know you like to keep your secrets. For example, you don't tell your mother that you're dating this ex-Army guy with a scruffy beard. I had to get on a plane to surprise you to find out that bit of information. What is so wrong with Owen that you didn't tell me about him?"

Cristina sighed. "There's nothing wrong with him. I just – it just happened out of the blue, and I didn't want to say anything until I knew for sure it was going somewhere. Sorry."

"Is it going somewhere?"

Cristina smiled softly. "Yes."

***

Dr Wyatt coolly noted how casually Owen was seated on her sofa – a nice progression from the silent rock who had first sat opposite her. She consulted her notes.

"You and Cristina were going to try sharing a bed, one of you awake. Have you started?"

He nodded. "We tried it last night. We decided it would be best if she were awake. But it didn't work out. She doesn't want me sleeping on her right side, because that's where I was that night. And then she was between me and the wall and felt trapped, although she wouldn't say so. And then the bed was too small, but we shared an on call room bed before the choking, and it wasn't too small then."

Dr Wyatt nodded.

"I knew she wasn't ready, and I started to doubt myself. So we went to separate beds."

"Do you think you'll try again soon?"

Owen shrugged. "I think she needs to see someone, to be honest. But she's resistant."

"We did think that would happen. Other than that, how are things?"

Owen laughed. "Well, I just met her mother. Who didn't even know I existed. That – was quite an experience."

"How so?"

"I don't think Cristina tells her mother very much about her life, and her mother seems quite critical of her for that. And she's not too fond of me either."

"Do you think it was because she didn't know Cristina had a boyfriend?"

He shrugged. "I thought so – but she also seems to think I'm 'just another doctor' like Cristina's dated before, not that Cristina will tell me anything about who she's dated before."

He drew in a deep breath. "I don't need to know about her past. I'm not going to be jealous of whoever was before me. Whoever let her go was an idiot and I don't care about idiots. I just don't want to be 'just another doctor' to her mother, or Cristina, for that matter."

She made a note. "Has Cristina said or done anything to make you think you're just like any man she's dated before?"

He shook his head. "No. She has implied I'm the one guy who can handle her, though."

Dr Wyatt chuckled. "That's a compliment to you, then."

He laughed. "I'm really not that worried about how Cristina feels about me. I want her to feel safe sharing a bed with me, but the other stuff is going well. I just wish I knew how to impress her mother."

"I think you'll find a way."

***

Meredith cautiously looked around, before approaching Cristina at the OR wing nurses station. "Where's Ma Rubenstein?"

"Calling Saul to nag him," Cristina replied. "You'd better run before she comes back and sees you and says something about your split ends or something."

"I'll make it quick then," Meredith laughed. "What does she think of Owen?"

"Not much. He's said or done something to annoy her, but of course she won't say what."

"Does she know about the …?"

"Oh god no," Cristina exhaled. "She doesn't need to know about the choking. That's between us and his therapist."

"Speaking of which …" Meredith bit her lower lip.

"Oh not you too!"

"Not me what?"

"Tell me you don't think I should see a shrink too. Owen gave me a list of therapists that Dr Wyatt recommends, since I obviously will not see the woman I called the worst shrink ever."

Meredith smiled gently. "So Owen thinks you should see someone?"

"I don't need to see someone!" Cristina snapped. "I can forget about what happened. This is about Owen getting the help he needs."

"But his hands were around your neck," her friend protested. "How can you forget about it if you don't deal with it?"

"The same way I deal with every crappy thing that's ever happened to me!" Cristina's eyes widened slightly. "Nosy mother coming up behind you. Get out while the getting's good."

"I'm leaving!"

***

Owen stopped by O'Malley's bed to check in on him. George smiled up at him weakly, still intubated. Owen smiled back, noting that his colour was slightly improved.

"Looking good, O'Malley," he said, making notes. "If Cristina doesn't drop by and visit you, it's because her mother is in town. Don't feel slighted."

George's eyebrows twitched.

"You've met her before?"

George slowly blinked once, his signal for "yes".

Owen opened his mouth to ask another question – then shut it. He had the feeling that he was missing some important part of Cristina's history – and it was up to her to reveal it. Instead, he smiled and patted George's arm before leaving him.

He almost ran over Helen, looking about the hallway with distaste.

"Ah, Mrs Rubenstein," he said as gallantly as he could. "Can I help you with something?"

"Where is Cristina?" she snapped.

"I – don't know," he said carefully. "I haven't seen her since the cafeteria."

"She ran away from me. Typical," the older woman muttered. "She can't handle any sort of emotional interaction, can she?"

Owen frowned. "That – doesn't sound like the Cristina I know. She's private, but she shares things with me…"

"I suppose she does," Helen said cryptically. "But eventually, she'll shut you out, like she shuts out everyone."

Owen opened his mouth to protest, but was distracted by one of the interns.

"Dr Hunt, you were supposed to look at the guy who fell off the ladder before we can discharge him?"

"Excuse me," Owen said to Helen. "I need to check a patient as per trauma protocols and then I can help you look for Cristina." _She's probably hiding on the vent_.

He followed the intern to the exam bed, not noticing Helen following him. The intern briefed him, noting that the patient fell while climbing onto a roof and was insisting that he was fine.

Owen started examining the patient – and felt a chill. "His left pupil is blown. What does that tell you, Dr Guzman?"

"Wha – well," she stuttered.

Owen sighed as he noticed the patient's left hand was shaking. He opened his mouth to lecture her – then called for a crash cart as the patient's vitals began to drop. Quickly, he got the man intubated and shipped out for a CT and a neuro consult. Only then was he aware that Helen had been watching him the whole time.

"What was wrong with him?" she asked curiously.

"He's had a hemorrhagic stroke," Owen explained. "The intern missed the signs but I think the patient will be fine. Have you met Dr Shepherd?"

Helen nodded.

"He's the best, he'll take good care of him. Now, I'd like to help you find Cristina, but I want to follow up first with Dr Guzman on what she missed."

"Very well," Helen said, eying him thoughtfully.

***

Cristina smirked as she checked her pager, while lounging in an empty patient room with her friends.

"That was Owen," she announced. "Mom's on the warpath. He's going to misdirect her around the hospital."

Callie laughed. "You _guarantee_ that she's spending the night in a hotel room and not at our place?"

"Yes, since she didn't want me to clean up for her." She took a sip of her coffee. "I wonder if I can get Owen to send her over to Mercy West?"

"I think you're being quite mean to Owen," Meredith counseled her. "He has better things to do than babysit her for you."

"I suppose," Cristina said. "But over lunch, we went over my hair, my weight, my emotional inaccessibility, and my career path. All of which are wrong, wrong, wrong and wrong. I really can't take too much more of this."

Callie checked her ringing pager. "Gotta go." She quickly left.

"I'd like to pick up where we left off earlier," Meredith said quietly.

"And where was that?"

"I promise that I am not ganging up on you with Owen," Meredith said. "But – I'd really like you to consider seeing a therapist."

Cristina shook her head. "I don't need to."

"Cristina," Meredith said firmly. "Hear me out this once and then I'll leave it alone."

Cristina sighed and motioned for her to continue.

Her friend drew in a deep breath. "I am not speaking to condemn you for past mistakes. I know that you love Owen, more than you're telling me, and that's okay. As long as he continues to get help, I promise I will not say anything against your relationship.

"But you ignored warning signs that he was getting worse, before the choking. He woke up and knocked you down, and you laughed it off as 'Apocalypse Now'. Nobody was laughing the next time he woke up from a nightmare, that's for damn sure."

She paused. "I think you're ignoring your own warning signs now. You just want to forget about being choked and be with the man you love, ignore the bad memories, like you always do. But I think you can't ignore that memory, and if you don't, you're going to get worse. Look at you, you're making your poor boyfriend drag your mother around the hospital, when normally you'd be up to facing Helen and telling her off."

Cristina looked at her. "Can't I just talk it out with you?"

"It doesn't work that way. And keep in mind that I did want to kill Owen that night. You need someone more neutral."

Cristina sighed. "You done?"

"Think about it, please."

"Fine." Cristina pulled out her cell phone.

"Are you going to run away from me now?" Meredith asked with a smile.

"I'm going to rescue Owen," Cristina said. She muttered, "I'll think about it, okay?"

"Okay."

***

"There you are!" Helen said, as Cristina approached them in Owen's office. Owen mouthed a silent "thank you" at her from behind Helen's back.

"So, Mom, do you want to go out to supper tonight? Somewhere nice?"

"Don't want to cook, hm?"

Cristina silently counted to five, while Owen raised his eyebrows.

"There's a new Korean restaurant that I like. I thought you might like to try it," Cristina said. "Owen and I both get off at 6, we could pick you up at your hotel?"

***

Meredith decided to stop by and see George on her way out. She raised her eyebrows to see Alex sitting by his bedside. She stuck her head in.

"How's he doing?"

"He's sleeping again," Alex said quietly. "Did you manage to avoid Cristina's mother today?"

She laughed softly. "Yes. Poor Owen got stuck with her today." She tilted her head. "Have you talked with Robbie lately? How's she doing?"

Alex sighed. "She's not doing well. She calls me and cries into the phone every night."

Meredith looked at Alex closely. She noticed lines on his face that hadn't been there a month before. She pulled up a chair.

***

Supper was strained, as Owen and Cristina struggled to keep things polite. They talked about the weather and other benign topics. Needing a break, Cristina excused herself from the table. She lightly touched Owen's shoulders as she walked behind him to the ladies' room. _Poor guy is not having fun today._

Owen noticed that Helen was looking sour again and sighed. He was tired of this treatment and wanted to know what he had done or said.

Before he could break the silence, Helen did.

"She likes to touch you," Helen observed. "Why is that?"

"I – don't understand," Owen said.

"She's always touching you, and letting you touch her. She touches your face, your hands, your shoulders. Why is my daughter suddenly touchy-feely?"

Owen frowned. "She – that's just the way she is, the way we are. I don't think we're being inappropriate, Mrs Rubenstein."

The older woman looked at him curiously. "She's always been like that with you?"

He nodded. "How is that a problem?"

Helen paused and gathered her thoughts. "Cristina has never, ever, liked to be touched. Even as a baby. We had so many fights while she was growing up, because she wouldn't let me fix her hair or her clothes, she was never a cuddly child, she liked to keep herself separate. She is like that with everyone, except you. You can touch her, and she touches you. Why is that?"

Owen chuckled nervously, feeling a growing lightness within. "I – don't know. We just seem to go together that way." He smiled. "_Nobody_ else gets to touch her?"

"No! All of her life, my daughter wants nothing to do with me or anyone physically, but she's all over you!"

He paused. "May I be frank?"

"Please."

"Well ma'am, since I've met you, you've done nothing but criticize Cristina's weight, her hair, her choice in men, and her need for privacy. I let know that I like her just the way she is. Maybe that's the difference."

Helen stared at him while Owen took a drink of his beer. He was smiling inside – Cristina only liked to touch him …

"What did I miss?" Cristina asked, returning. Owen jumped up and held her chair for her. She looked at him questioningly, but he just grinned.

Cristina looked at her mother, who was staring at Owen. _Oh great, she hates him for life now_. Cristina nervously picked at her food. She was acutely aware that Owen was gazing at her fondly while her mother was strangely mute.

Finally Helen spoke. "That color looks very nice on you, Cristina."

Cristina looked up at her in surprise. Owen smiled mysteriously.

Helen looked directly at Owen. "It seems that you are not like the others, after all. That's good." And with that said, she drank from her wineglass.

Cristina looked at Owen again for answers, but he was just smiling smugly.

"_What_ did I miss?" she demanded. "Mom, what did you tell him about the others?"

"Oh, I just talked about you," Helen said with a wave of her hand. "I've noticed some positive changes in you, thanks to Owen here."

"_What did she say?_" Cristina asked Owen directly.

"She said that color looks very nice on you," he smiled. "She doesn't always know how to express it but she's very proud of you and we agreed that it's a shame that the two of you don't spend more time together. Maybe we could spend Thanksgiving in Los Angeles with your mother and stepfather?"

Both of the women looked at him in surprise. Helen managed to regain her composure first, and beamed with pleasure.

"Or maybe they could both come to Seattle and meet my mother?" he suggested.

**

Later that evening, they dropped Helen off at her hotel, Owen insisting on walking her to the room. Cristina tagged along, curious about this new dynamic.

"I had a very nice evening, you chose a good restaurant," her mother told her. "And thank you for your company, Owen."

"It was my pleasure, Mrs Rubenstein."

"Call me Helen."

Cristina rolled her eyes. Those two weren't telling her anything and it was driving her nuts. She let her mother kiss her cheek good night, then walked to the elevator with Owen, holding hands.

"Some day, I will find out what happened," she warned him. "I will extract the secret of getting along with my mother from you."

He laughed and kissed her forehead. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

"No."

They rode the elevator down in silence and then walked to his truck.

"I have a brilliant idea," Cristina declared, as Owen started the engine.

"What's that?"

"The next time we try sharing a bed - one of us awake - we should get a hotel room with a king-sized bed. That's a neutral environment. We could order room service, have hot sex, and then try sharing the bed."

He laughed. "You _are_ a genius."

"I know."

She looked down at her hands in her lap. She nibbled her bottom lip.

"Maybe," she said haltingly. "Maybe I'll look at that list you gave me."

He glanced at her, her head down. He quickly stroked her hair before turning his attention back to the road.

"I'm glad to hear that."

_Scalpels are our chief weapons, but words can wound as well. We use scalpels to cut and to separate, but we do what we do in order to heal the patient. Words can also heal, like the warmth of a lover's body, the joy of a child's smile, the happiness when two hearts connect._


	9. Lesson Learned

**Author's Note**: Greetings from shli. Sorry about the delay. Life got a little bit crazy. Hope you all enjoy it!

* * *

**Episode 9 of Grey's Anatomy Season 5.5: Lesson Learned**

_The most worthy education usually happens outside the classroom. Where the teachers do not impart basic and straightforward knowledge like ABCs or 123s. These teachers don't even have to be people — they can be past failures or experiences because mistakes are how you learn. Simple enough… And yet, these lessons are often hardest to learn. It's so easy to repeat failures. To change or go down our own personal "road not taken" requires work and inspiration. We must work to be better and be inspired to succeed._

"Cristina."

Cristina groaned and shoved her face deeper into the pillow, refusing to be roused from her sleep.

"Cristina."

Cristina lifted her arm and waved her hand about in an attempt to silence the source of the disturbance.

Owen deftly dodged her hand, leaning back so that he was out of reach. With a small chuckle, he gently encircled her wrist with his fingers and grazed the back of her hand with his lips.

"Wake up, sleepyhead," he whispered into her ear.

His breath tickled her curls into a brief yet lively dance, eliciting a murmur of reluctant acceptance that her nap was over. With an exaggerated yawn, Cristina rolled onto her back and stretched out her muscles from the tips of her fingers to the soles of her feet.

"You better have a seriously good reason to wake me up," Cristina said as she yawned again. "Otherwise, I might have to hit you."

Even though he knew Cristina was a lot stronger than she looked, Owen wasn't the least bit threatened with the possibility of her punching him. "Lucky for me, I need your hands for surgery and not for making a fist."

Cristina shot up from the bed immediately. "Why didn't you page me?" she asked as she gathered her curls and tied them into a messy bun at the nape of her neck. She made to grab her tennis shoes when Owen stopped her.

"Slow down," he replied. "They're still prepping the patient. Plus, I wanted to watch you sleep for a bit. See, we made a little bit of progress."

"What do you mean?"

"We were in the same bed together as you slept and I watched. Even though it was only for a few minutes."

Cristina smiled at the hint of joy that Owen exuded from accomplishing that tiniest inch of progress — it was contagious, causing her own spirits to lift. "What happened to the hotel room, room service, and tons of hot sex idea?"

Owen laughed and gently cradled the side of her face as he leaned forward to kiss her. "Trust me, I definitely have not forgotten about that plan."

Their lips met, and Cristina couldn't help but let out a tiny sigh of content. Though she wasn't one to normally have such feminine reactions, But Owen brought that side out of her. Oddly, it made her feel more more…complete. It wasn't in the sense that she needed him to be whole — Cristina was _not _the type of woman who _needed _a man to define herself. No, she was complete in the sense that her life seemed to fuller with him.

Cristina was the first one to pull away with Owen's lips resisting the loss of contact. Though, if there hadn't been a surgery waiting for her, she would have gladly turned their simple petting into something that required locking the on-call room door. Even now, she was the slightest bit reluctant to stop. While she was still adamant about being the best surgical resident and taking all the best surgeries, she had long learned the lesson that surgery wasn't everything.

"Mmm… As much as I'd love to continue this, we have a patient in need of some cutting. And you know me and scalpels," she joked.

Owen nodded in resigned agreement and helped Cristina lace up her shoes, using the task as an excuse to touch her. "After you," he said, gesturing towards the door.

Cristina walked ahead of him then paused in the doorway. "Back of my neck or my ass?"

"Sorry?" Owen asked, startled at the random question.

"Which part of my anatomy are you sneaking a glance at?"

Caught, but not at all ashamed of it — he was a man after all, Owen unabashedly admitted, "Ass."

Cristina laughed as she exited the room, purposely putting an extra swing to her hips as she led the way to the OR.

***

Cristina was basking in the afterglow of badass surgery. If there was ever a doubt as to whether or not she'd gotten her groove back, this surgery had proven that she had. The whole period of mourning for Burke and fighting with Hahn was just a vague memory in her mind. She was a badass surgeon — and she wanted to rub it in someone's face.

Cristina walked into the locker room and saw the familiar figure of her "person" unwrapping her scarf and removing her thick coat. The words of triumph were on the tip of her tongue when something Meredith did stopped them in their tracks.

Meredith reached towards the back of her locker and ran her thumb across the top of her post-it wedding note, a movement that both reassured herself that the moment had happened and better secured the sticky note on the wooden surface. A nostalgic and tender smile played at her lips. In the years that Cristina had known Meredith, she had rarely seen the self-acclaimed "dark and twisty" dirty blonde so genuinely happy. All plans of bragging about her surgery flew from her mind.

"You have changed…you've become softer," Cristina finally said.

Meredith gave a slight startle but relaxed upon seeing Cristina standing there. "I'm still hardcore…but guess being a married woman changes things," she replied with a shrug.

"No, you were softer before you and Shepherd had your 'wedding.'"

"I don't know. Maybe therapy really did help."

Cristina still couldn't fully accept the idea of psychology being curative in any way. It was a soft science — hell, Cristina didn't even really consider it a science at all. She understood how surgery worked — repairing damage with physical tools and cutting away diseased tissue made sense. Therapy and the act of talking things out didn't.

"Did it really?"

Meredith shrugged again, knowing that Cristina wasn't really looking for an answer.

"I mean," Cristina continued, "I don't have a mother whose surgical skills I have to live up to. I didn't come back from Iraq with war wounds. I didn't nearly drown myself. All I did was get left at the altar by a man who loved me then made me into a ghost in my own hospital…and fall in love again and almost die from my boyfriend's night terror…"She paused. "Why would I possibly need therapy?" Cristina uttered more to herself than Meredith.

Meredith watched the array of emotions flitter across her friend's face, wisely choosing to remain silent and let her work it out herself. She knew Cristina — she needed to reach conclusions on her own.

"Crap, I'm as bad as Izzie was with her cancer, aren't I?" Cristina let out a sigh and rubbed her temples. Reminding herself of the fact that Izzie had refused to admit that something was wrong — and the fact that none of them had noticed the symptoms in time — was not something she wanted to think much about.

"No, you can fix this. No cutting, no drugs. All you have to do is talk to someone. All you have to do is meet Owen halfway."

Cristina shot Meredith a glare. "You're starting to sound like Owen."

Meredith tilted her head to one side and gave a quizzical look, not understanding the remark. Cristina shook her head, signaling Meredith to forget it, then stalked off to the vent to clear her head.

***

Derek slid a steaming cup of coffee towards Owen as he leaned on the nurse's station counter next to his former nemesis.

"Thanks," Owen said as he brought the coffee to his lips. "I've been up for a while." He took a sip and let out a sigh of gratitude. After a moment of pausing to appreciate the warm sensation of the hot liquid settling in his stomach, he continued, "You know, Sloan might get jealous if he catches you buying me coffee."

Derek laughed at the absurdity of the idea. "Mark has his own problems with Lexie at the moment."

When it looked like Derek was about to tell him exactly what kind of problems the couple was having, Owen quickly interjected, "I don't need to hear about it."

"Ah, I forgot. You are the only one in this entire hospital who doesn't gossip."

Owen shrugged, not truly understanding why it was such a big deal that he wasn't one for the rumor mill. He didn't care much for other people's business, mostly because he didn't want other people to know his.

Deviating away from the personal lives of the staff, Derek opted instead to talk about the most recent news pertaining to the hospital. "Well, here's something you should know. Apparently, there is a new Head of Cardio."

"Really? Do you know who it is?"

"Dr. Sofia Moretti from Mayo Clinic. The Chief has been after her to join the surgical department for a while. Either his offer got significantly more attractive or she's escaping to this hospital for some personal reason just like most of the surgical attendings on staff." Owen shot him a brief look, not realizing that Derek was talking about himself. "She's performing her first surgery at Seattle Grace in half an hour."

"Huh, never heard of her." Owen glanced at his watch. "My shift ends in a couple hours, but I still have one more surgery on the board. And afterwards, I'm meeting Cristina for drinks at Joe's. I guess my introduction to the new Head of Cardio will just have to wait till tomorrow."

"Another Head of Cardio," Derek said, scoffing slightly at the idea of hiring yet another Head of Cardio. "Hopefully, this one will last a while. We certainly have gone through a few…"

Derek immediately clammed up, not wanting to accidentally be the one to tell Owen about Burke.

Not noticing Derek's sudden reticence, Owen dumped his coffee into the nearby waste basket and gathered the charts he'd set down in his arms. "Thanks again for the coffee. I owe you one."

Still wary of unintentionally spilling secrets, Derek simply nodded in response. Apparently, Meredith was right — he was chatty. He was almost as bad of a blabber as Mark. Shuddering at that thought, Derek quickly refocused his attention back on work, trying not to contemplate just when he and the former manwhore started sharing personality traits.

***

"Where did you go?" Meredith asked as Cristina joined her and Amanda at the table in the cafeteria.

Cristina gave a noncommittal shrug and answered, "Nowhere in particular." The only people left who knew about the vent were her and Owen — Izzie had taken that secret to her grave.

Meredith knew better than to push for details, especially in front of a semi-outsider. Though, nowadays, Amanda was becoming less of an outsider and more like one of the gang — she certainly stayed in the hospital long enough. But even so, Meredith was still insanely curious as to where Cristina disappeared off to, especially when Cristina came back with her hair slightly tousled and without the satisfied smile that would stereotypically accompany it.

"How's George?" Cristina asked, interrupting Meredith's train of thought.

"He's doing better," Amanda replied. "Still waiting to see if he is ready to be extubated again."

"Just hang in there," Cristina said, reassuringly. Then, in a move that shocked everyone at the table, Cristina gently covered Amanda's hand with hers.

Amanda jolted a bit at the touch, never having pegged Cristina to be the touchy-feely kind in the short time that she'd known her. Meredith's mouth gaped open a bit, _knowing _that Cristina was not the touchy-feely kind.

Cristina awkwardly withdrew her hand, tucking it into her lap.

Her mother had been right in one respect — being with Owen had changed her. Whether this newfound sensitivity or softness was a positive thing, Cristina wasn't entirely sure. It was a drastic change from the type of person she had previously wanted to be: cold, clinical, and emotionless — her idea of the perfect surgeon. Now, Cristina was nagged by the inexplicable and irrational fear that she would turn into Dr. Sydney Heron, healing with hugs and peppiness instead of scalpel and logic.

Amanda cleared her throat, covering the temporary, uncomfortable silence that had settled between the three women. "I'm just really glad that I get a second chance with him, you know? He saved my life, and I barely even looked at him. But I was lucky enough to get the chance to change that. Second chances like this don't come by that often."

Meredith nodded her head. Cristina could see that it was in genuine agreement and not merely a polite courtesy. Far too familiar with the ups and downs of Meredith and Derek's relationship, Cristina knew that Meredith was thinking about her husband — for all intents and purposes.

Cristina reflected on her own relationship, and her mind naturally drifted back towards Janet — the woman who had died before she could tell the love of her life the truth. Janet had taught her that life was short, regardless of how long you lived, and Cristina didn't want to waste the time she had on being afraid in any way.

Cristina Yang was no coward.

Yet, the idea of explaining her past with Burke to Owen or seeing a therapist for her and Owen's sleeping arrangement problems evoked a fear that made Cristina both be annoyed and angry with herself.

Fed up with all these feelings of uncertainty, Cristina pushed her chair back from the table in a sudden movement that startled Amanda and Meredith out of their respective reverie.

"I got to go," Cristina offered as a sort of excuse and apology before going off in search of Owen.

Meredith watched her friend leave in a rush — again — and asked, to no one in particular, "Why does she keep doing that?"

Amanda, having no clue what was going on, shoved another forkful of food into her mouth to save herself from having to answer.

***

"Hey there, now."

Owen's face instantly lit up upon hearing those familiar words. Once spoken in disguised pain, the words now harkened to the progress they had made and the obstacles they had overcome.

Owen turned in his chair to face the doorway.

"Are you busy?" Cristina asked, remaining at the door.

"No, just making the trauma service schedule for next week before I head home and take a quick nap. We're still on for drinks later, right?"

"Yes," Cristina replied, drawing out the word in a hesitant manner, entering Owen's office and shutting the door. Owen sensed that whatever Cristina needed to say to him was important and drew closer to her instinctively. He lightly held one of her hands in his, moving his thumb over her fingers in a soothing manner as he waited for her to speak.

Cristina perched herself on the edge of his desk, letting his caress calm her and give her the courage to tell him about her past. It wasn't that she feared that her past with Burke would drive a wedge between them — they were well above letting something like that an issue, but the topic was still difficult for her to discuss. Burke had taught her how to love and be a brilliant cardiothoracic surgeon; but he had also brought her devastation, pain, loss, and humiliation — who would ever _want _to discuss a topic that stirred up emotions like those?

"Remember when you thought that you needed to go back to Iraq? You felt that you had unfinished business and that we couldn't move forward because of it."

"Yes, but I was wrong. I was avoiding seeing my mother and telling her the truth."

"Right," Cristina replied. "Well, in this case, you are your mother, and Burke is Iraq." Cristina could see Owen's confusion. She took a deep breath. "What I'm trying to say is that one of the reasons that we can't move forward — that I couldn't fall asleep in the same bed with you the other night — is because I also have unfinished… well, it's not really unfinished business… it's finished, he made certain of _that_… it's… it's…"

Owen brought Cristina's hand to his lips and grazed her knuckles with his lips. "Take your time, Cristina. You can do this… You can do this."

Cristina stared at their intertwined fingers, watching them loosely swing between them.

"When I was an intern, I was in a relationship with an attending. You might have heard of him. Preston Burke. He was the Head of Cardio before Hahn. At first, it was just a fling. Then, I got pregnant; but before I could tell him, he broke things off. I was never going to keep it: I had just started my internship, Burke and I barely knew each other — I was nowhere near ready to do the pregnancy or mommy thing. Anyways, I had a miscarriage — an ectopic pregnancy."

Owen's eyes unconsciously flickered towards her abdomen, where a faint scar remained to serve as a permanent reminder.

Cristina continued on, "We got back together, got engaged, and then he left me at the altar. I was even wearing a stupid white dress in a church. It was nowhere near as gaudy as Alex and Izzie's wedding, but it was still pretty bad… He left, and I…was lost for a while. I was a ghost… Until this badass army surgeon came into my life, found me, and saw _me_."

Owen knew that there was more to the story, but he didn't need to hear or discuss it more. If this was all Cristina would ever reveal to him, he would be satisfied. All he cared about was that she was with him now and that _he _made her happy. And the mere fact that she had finally come clean about this part about her past was enough. She was meeting him halfway. The actual content was irrelevant in comparison to the telling of it.

"Cristina, I will never leave you… I know that they are just words and that you may not completely believe in them. But I mean them. I will be around as long as you want me around."

Cristina shifted from the desk and onto Owen's lap, taking his face in her hands. "Then, I want more than forty years. I want you around when I'm old and grey… But I'll still be hot, and you'll still be turned on by the back of my neck."

Owen laughed. "Deal."

Cristina lowered her face to his, sealing the promise with a kiss — a brief one, but it was all that was needed. Simple and sweet.

"I have to get back to work, but I'll see you later," Cristina said after a moment. She stood up and walked over to the door, pausing before leaving. "I love you, Owen Hunt."

"I love you, too, Cristina Yang."

***

"Dr. Yang, do you have a moment?" the Chief asked as he neared Cristina.

Cristina quickly flipped over the list of therapists that Owen had given her, causing the nearby files on the nurse's station desk to flutter temporarily in protest to the disturbance. As nonchalantly as she could, Cristina also minimized the window that displayed information on the personal and professional backgrounds of a few of them.

"Yes, sir?"

Cristina was curious as to what the Chief wanted from her. She couldn't help but be a bit apprehensive, considering that their relationship had been strained ever since the intern cutting group and solo surgery debacle.

"I know you've declared cardio as your specialty, and I thought you'd like to meet the new Head of Cardio before the end of your shift."

Cristina's gaze moved beyond the Chief, finally seeing the tall, female doctor behind him. Cristina immediately stood up from behind the counter to shake the hands of her new teacher.

"Nice to meet you, Dr. Yang. I'm Dr. Sofia Moretti. I've heard a lot about you."

Sofia caught the searching glance that Cristina gave the Chief and laughed. "Don't worry. They were all good things. The Chief told me that you definitely have the makings of becoming a brilliant cardio surgeon."

"Umm… Thank you?" Cristina replied, completely taken aback at the idea of the Chief actually praising her.

"You're welcome. Anyways, I have a heterotopic heart transplant scheduled for tomorrow. I was wondering if you would like to assist me."

"Uh, yeah. Sure. I mean, yes. Thank you."

"You're more than welcome," Sofia repeated with a laugh. "Well, I will let you get back to whatever you were doing."

With that, Cristina was left on her own, trying her hardest to resist the urge to jump up and down like some teeny bopper fangirl who had just seen her favorite boy band.

***

Sofia Moretti entered the dimly lit bar. The Chief had told her that it was where most of the hospital staff congregated on their off hours.

Easing herself onto one of the stools, she gestured at the rather robust man behind the bar.

"A glass of cabernet savignon, please."

"Coming right up," Joe replied. "We don't get many people who come in here asking for wine, so it may take me a while to find the bottle."

As Sofia waited for Joe to return with her drink, she studied the people around her, trying to get a feel for the people with whom she'd be working with. A few seats away, a ruggedly handsome man with ginger hair caught her eye. Sofia admired the way his dark green jacket complimented his build, drawing her attention to his muscular tone.

Nodding in thanks to Joe as he filled her glass with wine, Sofia resumed her observation of the man and cast a furtive glance down at his hand to note the lack of a wedding band. After a brief moment of silent debate, she scooted off her seat and proceeded to make her way towards the man that had piqued her interest.

_When we are hurt, we are faced with two choices… We can choose to avoid it in order to protect ourselves. Or learn from our mistakes, move on, and hope that the life lessons we have learned will lead us to different endings. Yes, the latter path is difficult and requires work, but the outcome is so much more fulfilling. The "road not taken" — to path of hope — is worth the risk, whether or not it leads to success… because the journey is almost always just as important as the goal._


	10. Jealousy Rides with Me

**Author: Ohcyfan**

_**A/N: Huge thanks to my fellow writers: BNScrubnurse, HopeCrowe, Angelamermaid, and Shli for their great ideas and assistance. More specifically, special thanks to BN for her help with the medical aspects of this episode, and for writing 95% of my voiceover. Special thanks to HopeCrowe and Angela for the title suggestions (used yours, HopeCrowe!), and to Shli for being my sounding board. My fellow 5.5 writers are amazing, and I'm so pleased to be working with them! **_

_**I hope you enjoy this episode of Season 5.5.  
**_

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_Jealousy... Envy... The Green- Eyed Monster… Coveting something or someone… There are so many ways to say it - but actually admitting to it? Well, let's just say that the euphemisms come easier. It's an insecurity, a tiny and insignificant emotion that can swell until it stains the whole landscape, bringing even the most confident person to their knees._ _And worst of all, it tends to strike when we least expect it…_

Owen was sitting alone at the bar at Joe's, an empty barstool on either side of him. He was focused on his drink and wondering what was keeping Cristina. She was already twenty minutes late.

"Is this seat taken?" a woman's voice asked.

Lost in thought, he had not even registered her approach, but now he looked up - and did a double take. To say the tall woman with dark, wavy hair was stunning would be an understatement. Her fine features and smooth, dusky complexion spoke of an exotic Mediterranean ancestor or two. Italian? Greek? The glass of red wine in her hand and her sexy stiletto pumps put the polish on an already classy package. Owen glanced to his left to confirm that there was still an empty stool for Cristina, then turned back with a small smile. "Nope. Not taken," he replied, and it dawned on him a second too late that she was might be reading more into those words than he had intended.

"Hi. I'm Sophia. I just moved here from Minnesota." She sat down and nodded her head toward the dismal drizzle outside, "And I thought our weather was bad!"

Owen cleared his throat. The hospital staff who frequented Joe's didn't usually approach him when he was sitting alone. Whoever this woman was, she was clearly not in the loop. "Yeah, well, it does take some getting used to..." he offered politely. He noticed that she had turned toward him on her bar stool, and was leaning slightly in his direction. _Uh oh._ Not that he wasn't flattered, but this might look bad when Cristina walked in. He leaned away slightly, trying to give her the message without having to spell it out. Maybe she was just a friendly kind of girl. Or maybe not. Either way, dealing with a pissed-off Cristina all evening was not something he wanted to contemplate.

"Do you have a name?" she asked brightly. Her perkiness was already starting to irritate him just a little.

"What? Oh, sorry. I'm not usually so rude. Owen... Owen Hunt." He reached across the rapidly diminishing gap between them and shook her hand.

"Hmmm.... Why does that name sound familiar to me?" She tapped her fingernail on the bar. "I think I'd remember if we'd ever met."

"Well, you don't look like you've landed in my ER recently. That's about the only place where we might have seen each other if you're new in town."

Her eyes lit up, and Owen felt the full force of her enthusiasm in the smile she bestowed on him. _Ouch._ If he were even the slightest bit interested, this woman would have chewed him up and spit him out before he even knew he was on the menu. _Where the hell was Cristina, anyway?_

"Ah, that's it," she gushed. "I saw your name on the board! I'm Sophia Moretti - new Head of Cardio."

Owen nodded in acknowledgement. "Dr. Moretti... I'd heard we were expecting you today. I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to greet you in a more official capacity. I'm Head of Trauma."

"I'm so happy to meet you," she enthused. "I've met some of the other doctors but I was hoping to get down to the Pit tomorrow. Looks like you saved me a trip... And don't worry about the official greeting. This will do just fine."

If he had had any doubts about her intentions, they were gone the minute her hand lightly grazed his arm. This was getting very awkward indeed.

---------------

Sophia Moretti had always had a thing for redheaded men. Not all redheads, of course - just the select few who managed to pull it off without looking baby-faced or clownish. Her first love had been graced with a lovely head full of red hair, and although she'd had her share of blonds and brunettes, there was something totally yummy about a scruffy-looking redhead. When she saw the pensive hunk sitting alone at the bar, she felt drawn to at least go test the waters. Wouldn't it be interesting if, on her first full day at work, she began a hot new relationship with a guy she met over a drink? The girls back at Mayo would give her a very hard time when they found out. They'd been positive she was making a huge mistake by leaving such a renowned medical center for a hospital that, not too long ago, had been ranked #12, but Sophia was looking for a fresh start. It would be fun to prove them wrong, even if it was only in the romance department.

She had to admit that the stereotype about cardiac surgeons was true about most of them. As a group, they tended to be highly driven and somewhat egotistical. Sophia, however, reveled in going against the grain. She liked to think she was warmer than most, and that the extra spark of eagerness she exuded about her profession made her more personable to patients and colleagues alike. An extrovert at heart, approaching a strange man in a bar was no challenge for her. She knew she was attractive. Snagging her prey had never been an issue; it was in maintaining a relationship beyond those first couple of months where she struggled. Men seemed to want her more as a trophy, and when the novelty of dating a knockout cardiac surgeon wore off, they were out the door. Her friends had suggested she try and date other doctors, theorizing that they would at least understand the demands of the profession, but the pickings at Mayo had been worse than slim in the handsome male department. Seattle Grace offered up a whole new smorgasbord, however, and if Dr. Hunt was any indication of the quality of the fare, she was excited to sample it.

"So, uh... who have you met so far?" Owen gestured in the general direction of the hospital.

"Well, the Chief of course, and Dr. Robbins. She has a very interesting pediatric case that we're going to work on together tomorrow. Oh, and Dr. Bailey, who seems so incredibly professional, though I understand she's not an Attending just yet. Let's see, who else... Oh, and there was that Resident he introduced me to... I forgot her name, but she's Asian... seems very bright. I've heard she's outstanding...." Owen was looking at her with a half smile on his face, and Sophia began to wonder if she was beginning to win him over when she glanced over his shoulder and saw Cristina walk through the door. "Oh, there she is now!"

-------------

Owen turned to see Cristina searching the room for him. _Thank God,_ he groaned inwardly. His capacity for small talk had just reached the red zone, and he was more than ready to disengage.

"Uh oh, she seems to be coming over here..." Sophia whispered, and Owen jumped a little when he felt her hand settle lightly on his forearm. "Oh, gosh, I hope she's not planning to talk shop. I really like to keep my personal time personal, but some of these Residents can be so driven to impress...." As Cristina made her way across the crowded room, Moretti leaned forward and continued conspiratorially, "This one seems so focused I'll bet she hasn't had a date since before med school."

Owen ducked his head down to hide the smile that was playing over his lips and, as nonchalantly as possible, moved his arm away from under her hand.

Sophia turned her attention to Cristina with a polite but formal smile, "Oh, hello again, Dr....."

"Yang," Owen and Cristina both said at once, and Owen glanced over to see Cristina looking at him quizzically. He felt her arm go around his waist, and he pulled her in for a quick kiss. Cristina turned and smiled at her new mentor. "Nice to see you again, Dr. Moretti," Then she turned to Owen, "Sorry I kept you waiting. I went to check on George again, and Amanda was having a girl moment."

"It's okay," he said. "I see you two have already met?" He ventured a look in Moretti's direction and was rewarded with something that he imagined few people ever saw - Sophia Moretti with her eyes wide open and her mouth glued shut. The reaction didn't last long, and if he hadn't known how intensely awkward this must be for her, the stiff smile she had plastered on her face would probably have fooled him into thinking she was unfazed. Either way, he was determined not to prolong this painful encounter longer than strictly necessary.

"Forgive us," he continued, "but we need to get going. It was very nice to meet you, Dr. Moretti. Please come down tomorrow and I'll give you the grand tour of the Pit."

"Of course," she smiled coolly. "I'll see you then."

Owen got up quickly and steered a clearly puzzled Cristina toward the door. "But I wanted a drink!" she protested.

"I'll buy you a whole bottle somewhere else," he growled in her ear. "Let's just get the hell out of here."

------------

Once outside, Cristina had to break into a brisk walk to keep up with Owen, who seemed intent on putting as much distance as possible between them and the bar. "What the hell was that?" she demanded.

"What? Nothing. That was... nothing."

"Not so fast, Ricky," she grabbed his arm and pulled him to a halt. "Lucy thinks you got some 'splainin' to do."

Owen smiled in spite of himself. It was dawning on him that Cristina was jealous, and he had to admit he kind of liked it. "It was nothing. She came over and said hello. I had no idea who she was at first. Then she introduced herself, and I did the same, and... you walked in."

"Uh huh," Cristina just stared at him, "I think you left something out."

"No," he shrugged, "I don't think so."

"Don't bullshit me. I saw the look on her face. When I walked in I'm pretty sure she was pulling down your zipper with her teeth."

Owen looked at her indulgently, "You're jealous."

"I am not jea... okay, so maybe I am. So what? How would you like it if some fancy Department Head was flirting with me and you walked in?"

Owen raised his eyebrows. "I believe I've already had that pleasure, Dr. Yang."

"What? What're you talking about? I never..."

"No, YOU didn't, but Mark Sloan did – when I first started working here, in fact. My head just about exploded. Fortunately for him, you laughed in his face."

"What?" She bit her lip in concentration. "Oh, that? You noticed that? But you and I weren't even seeing each other then."

Owen reached over and pulled her close, settling his arms lightly but firmly around her. "Well, I don't know about you seeing me, Cristina," he said as he reached up and brushed a stray curl away from her face, "but I definitely saw you." His lips descended softly over hers, coaxing them apart with a tender kiss, and he felt the tension drain out of her body as she melted against him. She was soft and warm in his arms, despite the chilly drizzle. "You're the only woman I see, Cristina, " he whispered in her ear. "The rest are just... wallpaper. Okay?"

"They'd better be..." she retorted and gave him a playful little shove, and Owen pulled her back to his side and slung his arm around her shoulders. They walked in silence until they reached Owen's truck.

"You hungry?" he asked.

"Always."

"Good. Mexican okay?"

"Can you spell M-A-R-G-A-R-I-T-A?"

"Probably not, but I'm sure I can manage to order you one."

--------------

They snagged a booth at Miguel's, a decent little Mexican restaurant within walking distance of Owen's place. Cristina was nursing a huge margarita, and her mood had settled into a more charitable orbit now that she had a pleasant buzz going. The smell of fresh corn tortillas hung in the air and reminded her growling stomach that she was starving; probably best not to drink too much before the food arrived. As they waited for their meal, she couldn't help mulling over the sight that had greeted her at Joe's - her long-awaited new mentor, Dr. Moretti, sitting way too close to Owen at the bar, her hand on his arm. Her first reaction had been a sudden loss of breath and a sharp pain in the gut, as if an invisible fist had hauled off and punched her right in the solar plexus. She had gone through so much to finally be with Owen, and the idea of being supplanted by some uber-sexy cardio goddess made her feel physically ill. For once she was glad for the traits that had labeled her a robot, because she somehow managed to simply swallow hard and walk over there as if nothing was wrong. The arm she slid around Owen's waist was her way of marking her territory, though given her plummeting mood at that moment, she'd much rather have made her point by peeing on Moretti's stilettos. Her worry was replaced by a large dose of relief when Owen responded by kissing her right in front of his new colleague. She had to give him credit; the man clearly had a brain in his head.

"So what did you think of her?" Cristina finally asked.

"Who... Moretti?"

Cristina nodded.

"Let's see," he toyed with his napkin, "…ugly, bad breath, crooked teeth, big warts... Not too impressed, frankly."

"Come on, I'm serious " she prodded.

Owen ran his fingers across the table as if rubbing out an invisible spot. His hands tended to get agitated when he was uncomfortable, making Cristina wonder if there wasn't more to the story than he was letting on. "What do you want me to say, Cristina?" he finally replied, "We talked for a couple of minutes. Ask me again in a week when I've had a chance to see her in action."

"And you really don't think she's pretty?"

Owen just stared at her for a minute, eyebrows raised slightly. "This is one of those questions, isn't it?" he asked.

"What questions?"

"Question like: 'Does my butt look fat in these jeans?' The ones women ask men where no matter what we say, we get in trouble."

"Just answer it," Cristina responded impatiently, his evasiveness convincing her even further that he was hiding something.

Owen shrugged. "Yes, she's pretty. Now ask me the really important question."

Cristina cocked her head slightly, but didn't say anything, and Owen continued. "Ask me if I give a shit."

"Ok… Do you give a shit?"

Cristina was picking nervously at the salt on the rim of her glass, and Owen reached over and took her hand. He waited for her to look at him before responding.

"No," he said emphatically.

She looked away, pleased at his response but a little embarrassed at having needed to hear it. She felt ridiculous, like an insecure high school science geek who had caught her boyfriend talking to a cheerleader in the hall. After all they had been through together, she should know better than to doubt him, but her pesky emotions had their own agenda; try as she might to squash them, she still felt a lump in her stomach. They sat in awkward silence, Owen still holding her hand across the table.

"Cristina..." he began.

As if on cue, the waiter arrived with the combo platter they'd ordered, and set it down with an admonition to be careful of the hot plate. After he left, Owen caught her eye and nodded reassuringly, and Cristina let out a breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding.

They both dug in without another word.

------------------

A few minutes into their meal, Cristina broke the silence. "Were you actually jealous then? When Sloan flirted with me, I mean?"

Owen chuckled. She didn't seem to be able to let it go, which he took as a good sign that she was as crazy about him as he was about her. "Let's just say I was fantasizing about exactly how a renowned plastic surgeon would handle it if I rearranged his face for him. Let's see..." he took a bite and chewed thoughtfully for a moment, "Would he trust anyone else to fix it, or would he try to do it himself?"

Cristina snorted, waving her forkful of chile relleno at him for emphasis. "Oh, I know the answer to that one. When he first showed up here, Derek went after him and he needed stitches on his face. The Great Dr. Mark Sloan insisted on doing it himself. Meredith had the privilege of holding a mirror for him."

"Huh," Owen took another bite of his enchilada and pondered the situation. Everyone at that hospital was a little nuts, so why the hell was he the only one seeing a shrink? "You know what they say, don't you? About how the doctor who treats himself has a fool for a patient?"

Cristina looked up and smiled, and her tone held a big dose of the snarky attitude he loved so well, "Spoken eloquently by the man with the staple gun and the gaping thigh wound..."

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. She would bring that up. "Got your attention, didn't it?" He tried to appear nonchalant, hoping she would drop it.

"Is that why you did it?" she asked.

"Um... I can't tell you that."

"Why not?"

"Because..." he replied, a small smirk lighting his features, "then you'd know you had me from, 'Ow! Ow! You're not numb!'"

Cristina had just taken a big swig of her drink, and Owen's falsetto imitation caught her with her mouth full. He watched in fascination as her deep brown eyes began to bug out, alight with amusement. She clamped her hand over her lips and nose, and a variety of choked sobs that he assumed were laughter made their way around the contents of her mouth. She was clearly stuck in that awkward place between laughing and swallowing, unable to do either one properly while trying desperately to do both. He was pretty sure she was coming close to spraying everything out her nose, and wondered if he should duck for cover.

"Keep that up," Owen advised somberly, "and I may have to intubate."

This sent Cristina into an even deeper fit of hysterics, the sounds of mirth muffled by the liquid she was precariously holding inside and her futile attempts to control herself. He watched her try to regain her composure, but knew from harsh experience gained in none other than a boot camp inspection line that suppressed laughter has a life all its own; in this case it was clearly winning the battle. Ultimately she gave up on making anything go down and grabbed her half full water glass, where she unceremoniously spat out her drink, staining the water a muddy brown with a disgusting concoction of margarita and partially chewed food.

"Cut that out," he deadpanned, "You're making me really horny."

Cristina had barely caught her breath, and this sent her completely over the edge, only this time her whoops of laughter escaped unfettered, causing people to turn in their seats and stare. She grabbed her stomach and tipped over onto the bench, gasping for air as fresh waves of hilarity washed over her. Every time she seemed about to stop, another fit of giggles would hit her. Owen just sat there with a bemused expression on his face, head propped on one hand, afraid to say anything more for fear of setting her off again. This was a new experience. He wasn't usually the kind of guy to send women off the deep end, and he was enjoying watching a tipsy Cristina lose control so completely. It occurred to him that getting her a little drunk once in a while might turn out to be a pretty good idea.

It was certainly proving helpful tonight.

------------

A few minutes later, when Cristina had recovered sufficiently to regain her seated position, Owen decided to satisfy his curiosity. "What is it with Shepherd and Sloan? I thought they were friends, but they keep beating the shit out of each other."

"You really want to know?" Cristina asked.

Their whole evening had been rather bizarre already. That - coupled with the scotch he was drinking - had blurred his usually rock-solid gossip boundaries. "Probably not," he sighed, "but tell me anyway."

"Remember Addison Montgomery? She brought her brother here... the guy with the worms in his brain?"

How could he forget? That had been a once-in-a-lifetime case. Everyone had heard about it. "Yeah? So?"

"She's Derek's ex. And Mark slept with her while they were still married."

It was Owen's turn to nearly choke on his drink. "What?"

"Oh, it gets better. Derek came out here while he was still married to Addison, and started seeing Meredith... only he didn't tell her he was married. She found out when Addison showed up out of the blue and confronted her - right in the hospital lobby."

Owen stared at her incredulously. This was unbelievable. "Ok, stop it. You're making this up, right? It's a plot from some soap opera you're secretly addicted to."

Cristina snorted. "Yeah, right. Who needs a soap opera when you've got Seattle Grace?"

----------------

Neither one of them felt sober enough to drive by the time they were done with dinner, so Cristina agreed to sleep over at Owen's. They had begun leaving an overnight bag at each other's place, with the result that spontaneous decisions like this one were no longer a problem. They discussed their sleeping arrangements on the short walk to Owen's apartment, and he insisted she take his bed. He would sleep on the couch, opting to forgo any attempts to share the bedroom in favor of getting a good night's sleep for both of them. Though it was less than they both wanted, their exhaustion and the full day they had ahead made the decision a no-brainer. Cristina accepted the situation without any further comment.

They were brushing their teeth together when it dawned on her that the big surgery she had scheduled the next morning was with Dr. Moretti, and that this same Dr. Moretti had recently been hitting on her man. A fresh wave of anger hit her like a bucket of ice water. Her eyes narrowed and she nudged Owen in the shoulder before spitting her toothpaste into the sink in disgust. "Shit," she said, and began rinsing her mouth and face, "I'm scrubbing in on a cardio surgery with Moretti first thing in the morning." She reached blindly for a towel, and Owen plucked it off the rack and handed it to her. "I was looking forward to it... before. But now this has the potential to really, really suck."

Owen finished brushing his teeth and considered for a moment before grabbing his own towel and turning to face her. "Unless you plan to switch specialties, you're going to have to work with her a lot, not just tomorrow morning. I suggest you pretend you didn't notice anything. Then it'll just be between me and her, and I can defuse it when she comes down to the Pit later."

_Good,_ Cristina thought, _at least he's not denying there's a problem anymore._ "Defuse it how?"

"I'm not sure yet," Owen rubbed his towel over his damp beard and up into his hair, "but hopefully I'll think of something by then. In the meantime," he turned to her and smiled, "I'd much rather focus on you..." He put the towel aside and kissed her lightly. "Mmmmm.... minty fresh..." he whispered and pulled her in close, deepening the kiss. Cristina could feel his hard length through the fabric of his jeans, and she rubbed herself up against him. His shirt was already unbuttoned; she eased it off his shoulders, while he began moving them both toward the adjacent bedroom.

They fell on the bed with a thud that made them both laugh, and she began to attack him in earnest. What was it about seeing someone else flirt with your boyfriend that made a girl super horny? She decided then and there to give him a night to remember, and she pushed every button she knew about and discovered a few new ones in the process. Owen was moaning beneath her in minutes, her mouth busily torturing him, his breath coming out in gasps. Finally he uttered a low growl, flipped her on her back and rammed himself into her. "I think it's your turn, Dr. Yang," he whispered, and began to move deliberately within her, slowly teasing her breasts with his mouth and shifting his position so he could find her clit with his thumb. She had not let him touch her till now, but was so wet and ready that she had an orgasm almost immediately. As soon as Owen felt her walls pulsating around him he gave her a sexy grin and rammed into her again, this time following it up with the long, hard strokes she loved. When he finally collapsed on top of her, she felt satisfied for the first time all evening that she had nothing to worry about from Sophia Moretti. It simply didn't get any better than this; why would he look elsewhere?

She was starting to doze off when Owen rose and kissed her goodnight, heading off to his makeshift bed on the couch. Cristina felt boneless and deliciously relaxed, and she realized with a pang that she would dearly love to fall asleep in his arms tonight of all nights. As she began to drift off again, thoughts swirled like a mini-tornado in her head, carrying with them the debris of past hurts and unanswered questions. Would time help her forget the sensation of Owen's hands around her neck? Would the trust they were developing between them take care of her reticence around sleeping in the same bed with him? And if not, would seeing a shrink _really_ help? Despite Meredith and Owen's suggestions, she still had trouble accepting the idea that she couldn't work this one out by herself. She had always taken care of her own problems, or else stuffed them away so carefully that even she had trouble finding them again. What if her coming clean about Burke was all they needed to make that shift into normalcy? Given her resistance to therapy, it made perfect sense to her to give it some more time before jumping into anything. If they tried again and still couldn't sleep together, she could always make the call.

With that thought, and Owen's pillow hugged tightly to her chest, she finally fell asleep.

---------------------

As it turned out, pretending nothing had happened was easier than Cristina had anticipated. Dr. Moretti appeared determined to do the same, and had been all business as they'd prepped for the transplant. She had taken the time while they were scrubbing in to quiz her student on the patient and the procedure, and Cristina had detected no edge to her voice as she questioned her.

"Dr. Yang, have you reviewed Mr. Simmon's records?"

"Yes I have."

"Good. Can you tell me why we're performing a heterotopic transplant on this patient?"

"Well... I believe it's because he already had a heart transplant four years ago, and his new heart is not functioning at full capacity. The new donor heart is not fully functional either, but it should provide enough assistance alongside the existing one so that Mr. Simmons can recover and lead a relatively normal life."

"Excellent. I'm glad to see you've done your homework." Cristina was glad too. In spite of the minor hangover she'd woken up with, she'd had Owen drive her to work an hour early so she could read up on the case and be prepared. After last night, it was imperative that nothing go wrong.

And nothing did. In fact, Moretti gave her a lot of leeway. She allowed her to complete an anastomoses, gently coaching her where needed, but leaving her to figure things out for herself wherever possible. The time flew by, and before she knew it, they were nearly finished. Cristina could barely contain her joy at finally having a mentor worthy of the title.

As they reached the point of closing up, Cristina gazed into the patient's chest cavity at the two hearts beating together - one damaged but functioning well now that it had support, the other one also imperfect, but able to help where it was needed most. What neither one could accomplish alone, both could do together. It occurred to her, as she watched the blood pass from one to the other, that this was a microcosm of her relationship with Owen. She held his heart in her chest as surely as he held hers, and in spite of the pitfalls and problems, they were learning to support each other and beat together. A fine lacing of strong stitches held them both in place. Nothing and no once would pull them apart.

"Would you like to close, Dr. Yang?" Dr. Moretti asked.

"Yes, of course," Cristina replied.

"Then I'll leave you to it," she said, nodding approvingly at her pupil. "You did a great job today, Cristina. I look forward to working with you."

"Uh, thank you..." Cristina looked down, embarrassed at the blush staining her cheeks even though she knew the surgical mask hid a multitude of sins.

She sincerely hoped Dr. Moretti had gotten the message loud and clear about Owen. It would be a real shame if she ended up having to hate this woman.

-------------------------

The car accident victims rolled in about 2pm, and it was one of the more senseless tragedies Owen had had to preside over in recent memory. A young man and woman in a single vehicle accident - a violent skid on a wet road that had caused them to spin and then flip multiple times. Although serious, this should not have spelled the end for either of the occupants, as they were both belted in and the car was a relatively sturdy model. Both, however, were suffering from significant blunt force trauma, with no obvious sign of the cause. The man had - along with the usual injuries associated with a rollover accident of this type - a broken collarbone, a crushed nose, and his right arm broken in several places.

"Karev, take him to Exam 2, and page Torres and Sloan. I think you can handle this one till they get here. I'll wait for the second rig."

"Got it. Want me to send anyone else out? I hear the other victim is in much worse shape."

"Yeah, see if you can snag an intern for me. Thanks."

The woman, who arrived thirty seconds later, was indeed in much worse shape. A lovely blond with delicate features, the whole left side of her head was caved in as if it had been forcibly smashed with a heavy object. Owen took one look and knew it was a hopeless case. He was not surprised when she herniated her brainstem within minutes of arrival, and he immediately put her on life support. There was no hope for her recovery, but she was a healthy young woman with nothing but a few broken bones and a massive head injury, making her a perfect candidate for organ donation. He told Lexie to contact Lifecenter NW for a Transplant Coordinator, and asked her to check and see if the paramedics were still there. Something was not right about the scope of the accident and the injuries involved, and he was anxious to find out what might have caused the head injury.

The answer, when he found it, was almost ludicrous. "Bowling balls, man," said Menendez, a wiry young paramedic who spoke animatedly with his hands. "They had bowling balls in the back seat. We didn't see 'em at first because they weren't in the car by the time we got there... must have smashed through the windows and rolled away. Lusk spotted one on the side of the road before we took off."

Menendez had ridden with the distraught husband in the back of the rig and gotten the whole story on the way in; the young man had not been able to stop talking in spite of his injuries. The pair were newlyweds who had met a couple of years ago when they had both joined a singles bowling league. The balls were a wedding gift they had given each other, a gleaming black and silver 16 pounder for the husband and a lovely rainbow pastel 12 pounder for the wife. They had just picked them up from the Bowling Depot where they had had them custom drilled and engraved, and were heading to another store where they had pre-ordered some unique custom bags. The gifts were sitting innocently in the back seat when the accident occurred, turning them into deadly projectiles that caromed around the inside of the rolling car like the silver balls in a pinball machine gone mad. The husband had taken blows to the shoulder and arm, and had watched in horror as his 16 pound ball bounced off the dashboard and smashed into the skull of his new bride, then ricocheted in his direction, breaking his nose with a glancing blow from the side before careening out into the street through the driver's window. He had hung helplessly upside down by his seatbelt before the ambulance arrived, blood dripping from his nose onto the roof of the car, trying in vain to rouse his unconscious wife.

Such a waste, Owen reflected. If only people realized that unsecured loads in cars could cause serious injuries in the case of an accident. He'd seen people injured by toys, backpacks, and even their own pets, but bowling balls were a grim first for him.

Alex popped his head in, took one look at the monitors, and closed the door softly. "The guy's asking about his wife. What should I tell him?" He sidled over to take a closer look, then blanched visibly at the sight of the pale skin and straight blond hair of the woman on the table. One side of her face was still lovely; the other was completely ruined. He braced himself with a hand on the railing and swallowed hard.

Owen shook his head sadly. "She's toast. Brain stem's already shot. Her driver's license says she's a donor, so I called in for a Coordinator. Don't say anything to him yet, though. Tell him we're working on her, and I'll be in soon to talk with him."

Alex nodded and Owen noticed his white knuckles on the bed rails and the beads of sweat beginning to form on his forehead. It belatedly occurred to him that this situation might remind the grieving Karev of his recent loss, and he kicked himself inwardly for not being more sensitive in his choice of words. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," Alex responded. "Just peachy." He turned and left the room.

-------------

Thirty minutes later, Owen stepped outside for some fresh air and spotted Alex sitting alone on the bench in the ambulance bay. Breaking the news to the husband had been gut wrenching in the extreme, and he had not been surprised to see Alex ease himself quietly out the door as soon as the husband realized with a moan of intense anguish that his beautiful new wife was never coming back. After introducing the husband to the Transplant Coordinator, Owen had left the room, offering silent thanks that there were professionals who knew how to take over from here. It was bad enough to have to break the awful news to a spouse, much less bring up the subject of donating organs so soon afterward.

Feeling awkward but determined to help, Owen sat down next to Alex and found he had nothing to say. He opted to keep quiet and not force it, having discovered from experience that sometimes, just being present with people was enough. If Karev wanted to talk, he would. If not, Owen would just sit there and offer his silent support.

Alex was hunched over, looking down at the ground and breathing raggedly. After a few moments of this, he finally spoke. "I...I just can't be in there right now, okay? You don't have to babysit me."

"It's okay," Owen replied gently. "I finished up with him... Do you need to go home?" He had the feeling that home was probably the last place Alex needed to be, but felt obligated to offer him the option.

"No! Just give me a minute, all right?"

Owen leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees, and let out a breath. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"With you?" Alex looked at him incredulously. "What're you gonna do? Hold my hand? My life sucks right now, okay? It's no big deal. I have to work it out, that's all."

Owen nodded, as much to himself as to Alex. He recognized his own attitude from a few months ago, and remembered all too well that no one could convince him to seek help until he'd experienced rock bottom firsthand. Loathe as he was to expose his personal business to anyone at SGH besides Cristina, this moment held an element of grace that he could not ignore. If the agony he had been through could help even one other person, perhaps there might be some value to be gleaned from the whole sorry mess. It was at least worth a shot.

"You know, I have some experience with what you're going through..." Owen spoke softly, hoping his words came off as helpful and not intrusive. "Not losing a wife, but... losing people close to me. A lot of them. I might be able to help..."

"Well, bully for you." Alex broke in. "Is this where we hug and cry on each other's shoulders? Thanks but no thanks." He wiped his left eye with a hasty swipe, but not before Owen noticed the tear that had welled up in the corner.

Owen flashed back to his conversation with Shepherd on this very same bench. He had thrown Derek's offer of help in his face just like Alex was doing now, and he couldn't help but see Alex as a younger and slightly more volatile version of himself. Why was it that men in pain would rather lash out than accept support? In his case it had been flat out denial, and a refusal to dignify his own war wounds with any legitimacy. In Karev's case, he suspected it was more a matter of youth and a fierce independence that caused him to rely on no one but himself. He suspected that Izzie's death had not been the first time someone had let him down in a big way. While he knew he had to respect Alex's refusal, he also wanted to leave the door open in case he changed his mind later. _Just paying it forward_, he thought, remembering Shepherd's gracious acceptance of his own apology. "Ok, then." Owen got to his feet. "But the offer still stands, in spite of everything you've just said to me. I won't hold this conversation against you if you decide to take me up on it."

Alex squinted up at Owen as if he had just spoken Chinese, then turned his face back toward the ground. He nodded once, but said nothing, and Owen headed back inside.

-----------------

It was late in the day by the time Sophia Moretti made her way down to the Pit. She had considered not going at all after what had happened last night, but finally decided she had put it off long enough. She met Dr. Torres at the front desk and was just asking about the whereabouts of Dr. Hunt when she noticed him exiting an exam room. She waved at him and he headed over.

Owen nodded at both of them in greeting. "Dr. Moretti. Dr. Torres."

Damn, he was a fine specimen, and he looked even sexier in his scrubs than he had at the bar last night. "Dr. Hunt!" she enthused. "How nice to see you again. Can I prevail upon you for that tour now?"

"Of course," he replied, then turned to Callie. "All quiet here?" She waved them off from her seat behind the desk, and they began to stroll.

Owen cleared his throat. "It's a pretty standard setup. The ambulances come in over here..." He led her over to the double doors, which opened automatically for them. They turned back, and he led her through the exam rooms, pointing out the bedside ultrasounds, the heart carts and the PACS viewers. Within minutes they had come full circle and were back at the main desk, which Callie had vacated temporarily.

She was pleased to see how well-equipped the ER was. "Looks like you have everything you need here, Dr. Hunt."

"I think so. It's a lot easier than improvising in the field, that's for sure."

"Ah, yes. I heard you were fresh off the battlefield. Seattle Grace is lucky to have someone with your experience here."

Owen paused for a moment, and Sophia had the distinct impression he was thinking of something personal, not professional. "I think the lucky part goes both ways. I feel fortunate to be here."

"Ah," she said. Her curiosity was piqued, and she decided on a whim to go for it and ask the question that was really on her mind. She leaned over and rested her elbow on the counter. "Would you mind answering a personal question, Dr. Hunt?"

"I guess that depends on the question..."

"Then I'll just come right out and ask it." She smiled, hoping her charm might serve to buffer the intrusion. "Do the Attendings commonly date the Residents and Interns around here? Because from what I've seen and heard over the last day or so, it looks like a free-for-all... It's a very different atmosphere from what I'm used to at Mayo."

Owen let out an odd laugh. "You're asking the wrong person, Dr. Moretti..."

"Sophia... please."

"Ok... Sophia." She noticed he didn't reciprocate and insist she use his first name, too. "Like I said, you're asking the wrong guy. I think I'm the only one in this place who doesn't tap into the hospital grapevine."

"But you do date a Resident...?" she prodded.

"Um... I wouldn't say we're _dating_," Owen corrected her.

"Oh really?" Her eyes lit up. Maybe this wasn't a lost cause after all.

"It's gone way beyond that," Owen clarified.

"Ah..." _Damn._ That was not the answer she'd hoped for. "Forget I asked, then."

"I was hoping you'd say that," Owen replied with a small smile. "And it's already forgotten."

Just then, the phone rang, and Owen looked around to see if anyone was manning the desk. On the third ring he swore under his breath and picked it up himself.

"Go for Seattle Grace Emergency.... Ok. Ok. Thanks." He hung up quickly. "You'll have to excuse me, Dr. Moretti. I have an incoming GSW, 2 minutes out." He was already on the move, grabbing a gown and heading for the double doors. "Karev! Grey! Get a move on!"

Sophia watched him appreciatively as he headed toward the ambulance bay. Despite the knowledge that he was clearly not available, she found Dr. Hunt more attractive every time she laid eyes on him. Seeing him in action in his own ER only added to the effect. How ironic that she would be stuck working with his little girlfriend, and that said girlfriend would turn out to have the makings of a brilliant cardiac surgeon, the kind of protégé a teacher typically only dreamed of. Clearly whoever was pulling the strings on her life had a wicked sense of humor, and Sophia couldn't help but see it as some sort of test of her character.

The question was, would she pass or fail?

--------------

It was late afternoon before Cristina had time to take a break, and she headed straight down to the Pit. She had had a busy day so far, and was anxious to reconnect with Owen and share her success with Moretti in the OR. As she turned the corner into the hallway leading to the front desk, however, she saw that Moretti was already down there - chatting with Owen like he was an old friend. Without thinking, she stopped in her tracks and moved out of sight, peeking around the corner to see what was going on. She felt like a fool, sneaking around when by rights she should be marching right up there without hesitation. Owen was hers, after all. And certainly Owen would not be pleased to see her shrinking away like a whipped puppy. Yet there was something about the hospital hierarchy that stopped her in her tracks. Yes, she was Owen's girlfriend, but Moretti was her teacher, the woman she would have to please if she was going to get anywhere in her chosen specialty. _Shit. Shit. Shit._ Although she couldn't hear what was being said, the expression on Moretti's face was flirtatious enough to turn Cristina's stomach. Clearly she had not given up. And while not encouraging her, Owen didn't seem to be objecting to the attention, either.

Cristina turned away and headed back toward the cafeteria, all thoughts of sharing her day with Owen superseded by the greasy lump of jealousy that roiled in her gut. A quick glimpse into her future showed her scene after scene of nasty, Moretti-inspired fights with Owen - just the kind of thing that would turn a man off and force him into the arms of another woman. She couldn't let that happen. She had to find a way to either make her peace with Sophia Moretti - or get rid of her.

It was time to find Mer. She would know what to do.

_It is not love that's blind, but jealousy. It's the most involuntary of the Seven Deadly Sins. It's the only emotion that gives no pleasure and it's a tie that binds...and binds and binds. Once that seed takes root, it's a simple matter to let it spin out of control and heighten insecurities you didn't even know existed. _

_Being jealous requires no effort at all. The hard part is getting over it. _


	11. Corner of Your Heart

Author: JeriBearRN (BNScrubNurse)

Author's Note: My thanks goes out to angelamermaid, crazyflirtca (shli), hopecrowe and ohcyfan for being the most amazing group of authors to ever work with. These girls are constantly challenging me with things and ideas and making things work out. I'm so very blessed to be working with such a talented group of people and I couldn't think of a better way to be spending my summer. Thank you guys for everything- and you know exactly what I'm talking about. :)

And special uber last minute thanks to angelamermaid for being the queen of awesome and continuity. Here's to not writing until 4:30 in the morning anymore. Thank you, Angela.

x-x-x-x-x

_Love. It's the strongest of all human passion. It attacks the head, the heart and the senses, leaving you helpless in it's unrelenting attack. It's cruel, the things that love can do to a person. The heart forever makes the head it's fool- and love is only it's accomplice. Things that are seen aren't always accurate. Things that are heard may be lost in translation. It clouds the mind, it draws jealousy deep from within- it's the most exhilarating emotion one can experience. Yes, love for all of it's cold and calculating ways, it has it's perks. If you can find a way to get past all of the drawbacks._

The force that the rain fell against the already slick black pavement seemed to overtake her feet as Cristina paced back and forth across the ambulance bay. Her waterlogged tennis shoes gave way beneath soggy socks as her feet traced the red line with a balance and grace that came from years of ballet training that she'd never speak of. The diagonal white lines that designated the area in which their next patient would be wheeled in disappeared beneath bubbling streams of rainwater as the downfall continued.

Despite the torrential assault on the city, there were surprisingly no sirens disrupting her train of thought. No flashing lights to free her from the personal hell that had descended upon her. She had become one of them. She was a girl.

And she hated herself for it.

Glass doors slid open behind her and the sound of small feet disrupted Cristina from the well contained nervous breakdown currently taking place inside her. "It's about damn time." She muttered, finally coming to a standstill.

Meredith appeared beside her, already in a yellow trauma gown and in the process of tugging her gloves on. "What have we got?"

"A problem." Cristina said weakly, looking up at her.

With a blank stare on her face, Meredith began to open her mouth and then closed it again. She tossed the gloves into a trash can at her side and looked at Cristina expectantly.

"Moretti."

"What about her?" Meredith questioned, "And it better be good, because I wanted a trauma and you paged me with a trauma, and clearly there's no trauma here."

Cristina didn't stay it, but she was traumatized. Cristina Yang? She didn't get jealous. She wasn't insecure. No, no- Cristina Yang didn't give a damn about other women. She was hot, she was insanely intelligent, she was unbelievably good in bed and no woman in the world would ever compare to her- except the last time she had felt strongly about anybody, she wasn't good enough.

She thought she was good enough.

She didn't know until it was too late.

After a few moments of studying the fine lines of distress that had engraved themselves into Cristina's stoic features, after taking in the flickers of worry in her eyes, Meredith finally understood. "You're jealous. Of Moretti. The surgeon who has been here for what? 48 hours?"

"I'm not jealous," Cristina immediately denied in a dismissive voice, crossing her arms and looking away. "I don't do jealous."

"You are." Meredith teased, "Cristina Yang is jealous of the hot new cardiogoddess. God forbid that Seattle Grace has more than one."

"I am the only cardiogoddess in this hospital." Cristina interjected.

"If you thought that, you wouldn't be jealous. You think she's going to swoop in and what? Steal Owen from underneath you?" She couldn't help herself but to continue. "Maybe you should leave him little love notes on post-its. Bat your eyes at him from across the cafeteria. He's your territory, pee all over him."

"Meredith," Cristina sighed in a tone that was well-laden with the implication that she was being tedious and that it couldn't be tolerated right now.

Meredith stopped her relentless giggling and did her best to put on a serious face- she had never in a million years imagined that she'd see her person like this. Cristina really was in love. "Okay, okay. I'm serious now. So…you're jealous. Of Moretti. Because-"

"Because she's insanely hot. And she's a cardiogoddess. And Owen clearly has a thing for hot cardiogoddesses." Cristina rambled. She knew that she made absolutely no sense, except she knew that she made sense.

"I think that Owen has a thing for you. The hot cardiogoddess thing is just a perk."

"She was talking to him, Mer. Like they were best friends or something. Like he was-"

"About to take her into a call room and put her through the rigorous last phase of Seattle Grace's hospital orientation program?" Meredith smirked.

"Not. Helping."

With a sigh, Meredith resigned. "I don't know what to say. You don't get jealous. Cristina Yang doesn't get jealous."

Before Cristina could respond, her pager vibrated at her hip and she pulled it from it's holder with a sigh. "Yeah." She muttered, studying the message and jamming it back into place before heading it towards the door. "Tell me about it."

x-x-x-x-x

The unit was quiet- a benefit of Seattle's profound thunderstorms. Usually visitors didn't bother visiting their ill loved ones when there was a near typhoon outside. No, they'd rather go to the movies or brave hydroplaning across deadly intersections for a cheeseburger from McDonald's.

Leaning against her hand with a pained expression on her face, Cristina watched the nurses drag slowly across the floor carrying about their menial tasks of the late afternoon. Her eyes traced across the glossy floor to a pair of Nike sneakers adorned with purple swooshes quickly moving in her direction.

Unfortunately, those sneakers were attached to Moretti.

Cristina forced a slight look of interest on her face when she stopped at the counter in front of her and leaned over.

"Hi." She smiled brightly, crossing her arms across the counter. "I know you must be busy following post-ops, but I have an emergent CABG being prepped right now and I need an extra set of capable hands. It's a difficult case. You interested?"

Angry at herself for feeling even a tug of reluctance at accepting, Cristina stood and nodded. When the hell did she even entertain the thought of saying no to a cardio surgery? What was it about Owen and this woman that made her want to turn down a good complicated case?

Clearly, she needed to get the hell out while she had a strand of sanity still intact.

The two women scrubbed in, Cristina pretending not to be annoyed by the constant prattle of the woman next to her. Continually, she found herself wondering how the hell she made it through a fellowship without her attending suturing her lips together with a strand of 2.0 silk and then stapling them shut for good measure.

Cardiothoracic surgeons were not generally the chatty type.

She must have been so bad that OB tossed her back, Cristina thought, a wicked grin flickering across her lips beneath her mask as she watched Moretti place the rib spreaders. Watching closely as Moretti began the delicate work of placing the patient on bypass, Cristina continued to entertain the thought of how many services got tired of her before she finally got pawned off on cardio.

It's not that she aspired to be a cardiothoracic surgeon, it was that it was the only service left.

Cristina could go with that belief.

"Dr. Yang, will you please takedown the IMA for the graft please?" Moretti asked, her eyes sparkling a bit over her mask.

Cristina's eyes widened momentarily and she forced herself to focus, to shove down the surprise and excitement momentarily coursing through her body. "Of course, Dr. Moretti." She nodded, turning to the scrub nurse. "Forceps, please. Bovie on standby."

The position to harvest the IMA was never a comfortable one, but doing it with a woman that you would gladly kill standing over your shoulder and watching your every move, it was even more uncomfortable. Cristina worked quickly and efficiently, her small hands performing movements that they were well versed in only a short time ago.

"How is it that a second year resident is so efficient, Dr. Yang? Your skill far exceeds that of a resident at your level." Moretti remarked in approval.

"Practice," Cristina evaded easily. "We have an excellent skills lab."

Okay, so the skills lab had nothing to do with her practicing- but not even Owen really knew about her surgical escapades with Burke and Moretti wasn't going to find out before her.

"Since you seem to know your way around a chest cavity, Dr. Yang, why don't you continue on and I'll observe." Dr. Moretti spoke in a quiet voice, glancing up to the resident's more seasoned peers in the gallery.

They didn't seem to take kindly to the offer she'd extended to the determined woman.

None of them held a candle to her skill, either.

"Thank you, Dr. Moretti." Cristina answered, suppressing a jolt of pure joy in her voice. It had been far too long since she'd essentially flown solo on one of these cases.

Skilled hands went about manipulating the greater saphenous vein that had been harvested in haste from the patient's leg, wrapping it around the heart and providing new pathways for occluded arteries. Cristina would ask in a commanding yet uncharacteristically soft voice for the instruments she needed, watch as her attending held suction as if though she were the resident.

If Cristina didn't hate her so damn much, she'd like her just a little bit.

Halfway into the grafting process, Moretti was the first to start with not-so idle conversation. "You're a bold person, if I may say, Dr. Yang."

Cristina glanced up for a split moment before returning to her whipstitch, "You may, but I am not sure as to why you choose that word to describe me."

"How could I not?" She countered, her eyes flickering with the slightest hint of mischief, "You're dating an attending are you not? It's a bold move on your part." Moretti paused for a moment, focused on the young woman before her and then lowered her voice. "You know how it goes with these programs. Everybody is out to get everybody. It starts with a couple of dates, and it seems innocent enough. It could even be innocent- but they won't accept it to be that way. They accuse you of sleeping your way to the top, misjudge your skill and talent as the perks of being the teacher's playtoy. You risk losing a lot of respect. I'm just saying, for you to do it so openly- it's bold."

With her eyes focused on the vessel she was manipulating, Cristina never once stopped in her stitching, her hands never trembled. "With all due respect, Dr. Moretti, I love Dr. Hunt- Owen. People can think whatever they want."

Moretti gave a slight nod. Even bolder, she thought. She made mental note of how she worked under the pressure- under her insinuations. She was a force to be reckoned with surgically.

For a fleeting moment how much of a force she was to be reckoned with romantically- somebody with that much passion, that much drive could be a bit of an issue, but she was always up for a challenge.

"I see," She finally murmured beneath her mask and then cleared her throat. Moretti wasn't sure if it was a challenge to see how well she could handle the pressure, or just to see if it was even remotely possible to get under her protégé's skin- but she just couldn't help herself. "So, tell me Dr. Yang. Do the attendings date attendings around this place?"

x-x-x-x-x

The first time that Owen had set in the office of Dr. Wyatt, he couldn't help but feel claustrophobic. The artwork, the ugly rug beneath his feet, the magazines and journals scattered about a table as if somebody were actually going to have the opportunity to read in her office- it was all daunting and all part of some big fake ploy that he wanted no part of.

Now, he felt comfortable there- he wasn't sure when or how it had happened, but in a way it had become his safe place. The sound of the clock ticking as a comfortable silence settled over the two of them was no longer ominous- he no longer likened it to a ticking time bomb, rather it was comforting.

It meant he had nothing to say.

It meant there was nothing to talk about that was affecting him so profoundly in that moment.

"Cristina has been slow- but she says she's going to go to therapy," He finally said, his gaze shifting back up to meet Wyatt's- had they really come to the point where he could just make small talk. "About the sleeping thing, I mean. She says she has another issue to- an attending that she dated here? I didn't push her into talking about it. I know she will if she wants to."

A bemused smirk crossed Wyatt's lips. "Cristina actually says she's going to go to therapy? Independently?"

Owen nodded, smiling with the slightest hint of pride. "Yeah. She's got your list. Of people to talk to."

Wyatt nodded slightly, "But she hasn't gone yet."

Owen shook his head, "No. Not yet."

"I see." Wyatt remarked, glancing down at the nearly empty pad. He had come a long way, but they wouldn't be able to move any further until Cristina took a step.

"Is something wrong, Dr. Wyatt?" Owen asked, his curiosity piqued.

Blue eyes sparkled as she looked up to Owen, "Cristina won't go to therapy." She said, still smiling slightly, "Dr. Yang- I've briefly spoken with her before. People with her…personality, they don't go to therapy. They're iscared/i of going to therapy. I knew it was reaching, when I gave you the list- but I had hoped she would prove me wrong."

"Cristina will." Owen answered, remaining firm in his stance.

"I don't believe that she will." Wyatt contended, "Not if she hasn't yet. It isn't that it would not be beneficial- it's that people like Dr. Yang simply don't go because of their fear of vulnerability. Of letting somebody in. They have their own way of dealing with problems and for the most part they're successful. People like Dr. Yang simply won't go to therapy unless they end up really doing something detrimental like-"

"Like choking their girlfriends in the middle of a nightmare that he can't even remember." Owen finished with his gaze leveled on hers, "Cristina will go to therapy. Not for me, not for her- but for us."

Wyatt smiled sympathetically, setting down her pen atop the small yellow pad that she kept her notes on. "I hope so. For the two of you."

"I don't pretend to know a lot of things, Dr. Wyatt. I-I learned not to make assumptions because the next thing you know, you're in a hospital and your entire team is dead and the only career you've known for five years is no longer yours to have. I don't make assumptions. But this much I do know, this much I am sure of- Cristina will go to therapy."

Owen had never been surer of anything in his life.

x-x-x-x-x

Cristina pushed open the doors of the scrub room with a much more gentle force than she would have liked. Moretti gave her a pass from doing the post-op workup 'Because she had done such an excellent job intraoperatively that another resident could handle it'. Even now, just thinking her words made her want to stab the woman with a ten blade.

Or a butcher knife.

At least if she stabbed her with a butcher knife, then she'd probably dissect her aorta and then she could take her into surgery- and the recovery time from that would be much too long for her to have to suffer the idiot woman as the head of cardiothoracics for any longer.

Shaking her head at her own thoughts, Cristina had decided she had enough. After a quick glance at the nearly empty OR board, save for Owen's name blaringly scribbled across an exploratory laparotomy- she decided to check in on George.

For nearly three days now, he'd been extubated but from the gossip around the hospital's halls he hadn't uttered a singular word. Cristina knew this to be truth- in her presence he had said the words 'yes', 'no pain' and 'I'm fine'.

He just hadn't said anything meaningful.

She stepped into the room, the walls draped in an eerie gray. The lights were off and the lump below the hospital issue bedspread was unmoving. Nearly tiptoeing her way through the room, Cristina perched upon the window sill, watching as the droplets against the window left little black shadows streaking down George's sleeping form.

Cristina began to study his drips, analyze each of the medications he was receiving and exactly what they would do to his body- the side effects, the therapeutic effects and the contraindications. Her mind whirred with onset, peak and duration- lab levels, all of the things that a doctor should think of when they're looking at their patient.

And none of the things a person should think of whenever they're visiting their friend.

"What's the prognosis, Dr. Yang?" George asked quietly, never once opening his eyes.

Cristina froze, her eyes widened as she looked down at him. The swelling in his face had subsided to the point where she could be certain that his eyes were not open. "How did you know it was me?" She asked quietly, her arms wrapping around herself.

He wet his lips before he continued, eyes still closed. "Dr. Hunt comes in- he apologizes like what happened was his fault. Mer, she usually sniffles a little. Tries to act like everything is fine and she bitches about Shepherd. Callie, she prays sometimes. Really quiet so I can't hear her- or so she thinks I can't hear her. Alex, he doesn't have much to say- but he says stuff. Sometimes. But you- when you come in, you don't have anything to say. You look at the science. You look at the numbers and the drugs and the medicine. You rely on the facts. Not the subjective stuff. You're Cristina."

She smiled faintly, her eyes focused on one of his drips- norepinephrine, to help keep his blood pressure elevated. It was a minimal dose, one that wouldn't have an effect on his peripheral circulation or increase his heart rate- just a touch to keep his blood pressure at an acceptable level to perfuse his kidneys and the healing wounds on his legs. "You haven't had much to say."

"It's hard to say anything when the one voice you want to hear is the voice that you'll never hear again." George answered quietly, his voice unwavering.

Cristina watched the monitors as his heart rate increased slowly from the low 70s, climbing steadily towards 100 with his blood pressure readings following quickly behind. There were no tears in his eyes and his respiratory rate only increased a couple of breaths per minute- he was not hyperventilating or gasping for air.

She could still tell that he was in pain.

Cristina hesitated for a moment, her hand reaching for his and then pulling back slightly. She wanted to reach out to him- to take away his pain in that moment, but she didn't know what to say. Her's was not the voice that he wanted to hear.

Nothing she could do would make him better.

Without mumbling an apology, without trying to come up with words of sympathy that he'd heard a million times before she simply gave him a slight nod. "Your numbers look good. Labs are still elevated, but you'll recover. It will just take time."

George nodded slightly against his pillow, the movement with his eyes closed causing dizziness to encroach upon his senses. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Cristina answered softly before turning and leaving the room.

x-x-x-x-x

The downside to dating a trauma surgeon was that trauma didn't occur on a schedule- and if it were to occur on a schedule, it would be the one that's inconvenient for everybody.

Cristina sat next to Meredith at the bar, idly picking at peanuts and nursing her beer from time to time- she had learned her lesson from drinking far too much the night prior and she was in no place to put herself back into that stupor.

Especially after talking to George.

"You're quiet." Meredith observed, reaching for her own drink. "I don't like when you're quiet. It means something is wrong."

"Nothing is wrong." Cristina mumbled, averting her gaze. Everything was wrong, all at once- and the worst part was that she had essentially flown solo on a bypass and she wasn't even excited about it. The worst part was that now she was more worried about Owen and Moretti and George more than she was about her own career.

What the hell had happened to her?

"You need to stop thinking." Meredith tried again, this time easing sarcasm into her voice. "You're making my head hurt. It's literally painful to be around you right now."

"Shut up." Cristina mustered, still drowning in her own thoughts.

"That's fine. I'll shut up. I'll go…talk to that guy over there. Y'know, since the one person I want to talk to isn't talking back to me." Meredith tossed back the rest of her drink and pushed it towards Joe for a refill.

Cristina's eyes narrowed slightly on the little husks of peanut shell that was left in her fingertips and then widened. The hunch worked itself out of her back and drew her posture upwards. She looked over at Meredith, but said nothing.

She was thinking everything.

Meredith giggled slightly, "Epiphany?"

With the slightest of nods, Cristina answered, "Yeah. Something like that." It was something that she didn't care to explain to Meredith in that moment, it wasn't even something that she was sure would work out.

It was worth a try though.

Cristina felt a hand against the small of her back and turned to find Owen at her side. "That was fast." She answered, pushing her neglected beer in his direction.

"78 year old man on a motorcycle versus a tree." He explained, "There wasn't much of a fight to be had. Especially without a helmet."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Owen mumbled before taking a long drink of Cristina's beer.

"And on that note, I'm going to go because it means that Derek won't be doing surgery after all." Meredith slid off her barstool and onto the sticky floor. She tossed a few dollars down and looked at Cristina with a small grin. "Have a good night."

Cristina rolled her eyes in mock annoyance and turned to glance at Owen. "Long day?"

Owen used the opportunity to steal a kiss from her, the scruff of his beard gently brushing her chin. "I didn't see much of you. That always makes for a long day."

She couldn't help but smile slightly at the sentiment, the feelings of self-loathing for being such a girl with him completely dissipated. Her lips brushed his one more time for good measure- nothing prolonged, just a taste and she turned back to the bar.

With a warm gaze, Owen studied Cristina's features- the way her curls draped over her shoulders, the swell of her breast beneath the burgundy shirt, her lithe waist. He knew he could count on his two hands the number of times they'd been together and it simply wasn't enough for him- it would never be enough.

But when he could actually count how many times they'd been together?

That was a situation that needed to be rectified.

Especially after today.

His hand slid slowly over her knee beneath the bar, a slight grin playing on his lips as he watched her. A sharp inhale caused her chest to rise and it froze there for a moment as his hand moved upward, fingers tracing along the insides of her thighs. It fell again as he continued upward and he could see her eyes becoming half lidded.

Oh, the things he could do to her with barely even touching her.

Cristina's hand slid over his as he got dangerously close to the place that she wanted him to touch her, but the place that he definitely should not be touching her in while they were at Joe's. She looked at him then, her gaze as intent and the meaning as clear as day.

"Let me walk you home," Owen murmured in a low voice, his tone causing a shiver to travel down her spine. He laid money down on the bar for her drinks and a little extra for Joe and put an arm around her waist to guide her from the bar.

From the corner, Sophia Moretti sat and watched with a soured look on her face. Not even five minutes ago, Yang had been there with a sour look on her face and absolutely no sense of fun or personality whatsoever- and then he shows up and she's like an entirely different person.

Like he brings out the life in her.

She wanted that in her life, somebody who could bring out the life in her. Somebody she didn't care about being bold for, didn't care about putting herself on the line for. Somebody attractive and strong, ruggedly handsome.

Moretti knew that those men were few and far between.

She just wasn't sure how to get him.

x-x-x-x-x

Despite the wandering hands at the bar, Owen was able to be a perfect gentleman as he escorted Cristina home and as they arrived at her door, Cristina couldn't help but wonder what had happened. Reaching out, she shoved her hands into the pocket of his jacket and pulled him closer before kissing him passionately.

It was rare that she got to share kisses like this with him, or so it felt.

But with Owen, everything felt like it wasn't enough- she couldn't get enough, she always needed more.

Their tongues twined in a heated battle, his hand wandered up into her curls, fingers curled around the back of her neck and she froze slightly there, her lips parting ever so slightly from his.

"Come in," She murmured to mask her momentary and very involuntary reaction.

When he agreed, Cristina was sure that it had worked. She unlocked the door and watched him as he moved about her kitchen as if he'd lived there, pulling out a bottle of wine and two glasses. Cristina used the opportunity to slide in a CD – a mix of everything because she always grew far too bored to sit through just one genre for an hour.

The two settled on the couch, her leg comfortably draped over his and his fingers resuming the delightful teasing that he had started at the bar. Cristina laid back, her head against the couch cushions and listening to the music. "I talked to George today," She murmured.

"Yeah?" Owen asked, glancing over at her.

"Yeah." Cristina debated whether or not to tell him exactly why he wasn't talking- and after only a few seconds decided it wasn't her place. "He's okay. He'll make it through."

Owen could hear that there was more under her voice, and it was all he needed to know. Something had transpired and for her to still be able to say he was okay- it was more than enough for him to feel confident in the fact that his friend would recover.

"I saw Moretti this evening. She said you flew solo in her OR." Owen glanced over at her, trying to see what kind of reaction she would grant him. It may have been just the slightest bit amusing for him to see her so up in arms over a woman he could care less about.

"Yeah." Cristina answered, doing her best not to visibly flinch at the very sound of the woman's name. She was trying to relax.

"She said that you're a very talented surgeon," He continued, watching her closely. Owen couldn't help but tease her just a little bit, "She's putting in a word for you at the Cleveland Clinic. She thinks that you'd flourish better in a specialized hospital."

Cristina's eyes snapped open and looked over at him, "She said what?" Cristina said, narrowing her eyes, "She just wants to-"

Before she could finish her sentence, Owen started laughing. She reached over to not-so-playfully swat at him but he took hold of her wrist and pulled her into his lap. His hands grasped whatever she could swing at him firmly- but not too tightly at the same time.

"She wants to what?" He asked in a low voice, looking up at her. His let go of her wrist and moved his hand to brush a few errant strands of curls behind her ear. "That woman? She may be beautiful Cristina, but she isn't you. That woman- she didn't follow me into the darkness. She sure as hell wasn't waiting for me on the other side either."

Cristina opened her mouth to contend with his words- never comfortable with admissions like that, only to be silenced by his finger over her lips.

"I love you. You stood by me, you're standing by me. Nothing will ever compare."

Slowly, Cristina reached up to pull his finger away from her lips and she bent to kiss him softly- guilt suddenly tugging at everything inside her; some of it for hating her, most of it for doubting him. Her hand cradled the side of his face, thumb stroking his stubble and she pulled away.

She didn't know what to say in response. Cristina never had the words when it came to him.

His hand slowly rubbed at the small of her back and he was content in the moment, using the time to make a new memory to ease the pain of the old ones. Craning his neck, he claimed her lips once more before asking her in a whisper to dance with him.

They rose from the couch, their bodies never once disentangling and they began to move to the music. Hands began to wander, tracing agonizing patterns against sensitive areas. Their hips began to move together, the warmth of desire spreading through their bodies.

This was different than before- it was slower, more sensual than the previous times they'd been together. More reminiscent of the first time, less rushed than the last time. Owen removed Cristina's shirt from her body slowly, taking his time to marvel at the flat plane of her abdomen and let his eyes rise to the cream colored lacy demi cups of her bra and the sweet flesh that peeked out from there.

Cristina did the same, taking her time to reveal the flesh of his own body, one button at a time, savoring the man she was ridiculously in love with. Their kisses became punctuations to each action, passionate but fleeting as they moved onto the next article of clothing.

When they were finally free of their clothes, Owen gathered her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom. He pulled her onto the bed with him, his back firmly pressed into the headboard. Owen wanted to look into her eyes, wanted to see the moment that two became one.

As he eased into her, Cristina's breath became ragged but her eyes never left his. Her fingertips curled into the curve of his muscular shoulders and she rocked her hips gently forward into his until he was all in, filling her to the hilt.

For a moment, they stayed like that- motionless, just feeling the sense of completion that one granted the other from such a simple act. Each knew that nothing or nobody would ever feel so incredibly right, that this was what meant to be felt like.

Eventually, they gave into need, their hips crashing into each other and fingernails raking at pale flesh. Mouths grazed, tongues laved and their cries were dampened on the air around them until they could do no more.

With her body trembling, Cristina fell forward in Owen's arms, her forehead resting against his shoulder as she murmured his name, urging him on to his release. Their bodies shuddered in a symphony of soft moans and they fell from reality together.

Reluctantly, Owen let go of Cristina as she slid from atop him and lay beside him instead, laying her head across his chest. Ignoring the neuron's firing from his brain and telling him to close his eyes, he instead lay there with her, his fingers running through her hair. She was so relaxed in his arms and he wanted nothing more than to stay there with her like that.

Owen was tired of running away after they made love- it cheapened it. Cheapened what they had together.

He glanced down to see Cristina's eye's closed and sighed softly before he began to move out of her arms.

"Don't," She mumbled tiredly, not opening her eyes.

"What?" He asked, freezing at the sound of her voice, "I should go."

"Don't leave." Cristina repeated.

"Cristina- I don't know….I don't know if I trust me yet. And I know that you don't." He uttered softly, referring to how she froze just outside her apartment only a couple hours earlier.

"I don't," She answered, opening her eyes. "But… I trust science. I'm lying here and I can hear when it speeds up- when you're anxious or worried. I can hear when it slows down. I can feel you tensing up or relaxing. I can tell how fast you're breathing. I'll know before it happens, if you're having a nightmare or if something is going to happen. I'm a light sleeper." Raising her head, she looked up to him to assure him, "I may not trust your thing- your issues or whatever. But I trust your heart."

Wordlessly, Owen settled back against the pillows and resumed running his fingers through her hair. He wasn't sure if he could trust his heart though- wasn't sure if it was enough for him. Everything in his body begged him to stay with her, to shut down and give up the fight. Owen loved her so much- it was this one thing holding them back. One thing that would keep them from moving forward with their lives together.

As his mind raced he could feel that she wasn't as relaxed as before so he let out a deep breath and closed his eyes, tried to imagine less anxiety producing things. A small smile spread across his lips as he imagined a life together- one where she wouldn't have to sleep with a stethoscope practically glued in her ears and against his chest in order to share a bed with him. It was a quick fix- but not something that would last forever.

Just as he was letting go of the final threads of consciousness, he heard a soft snore come from Cristina and he tightened his arm around her only slightly.

"Goodnight, Cristina." He murmured. "I love you."

x-x-x-x-x

Cristina's eyes danced over Owen's body, trailing downwards over his abdomen to the large blue towel tied at his waist.

"Keep looking at me like that, Cristina, and I promise to make you late for work." Owen smirked, laying her hairbrush aside and turning to look at her.

She raised her eyebrows in challenge, grinning around her toothbrush. "Promise?"

Owen chuckled and turned to walk away, "You have a surgery in an hour and I need food. Get dressed, Dr. Yang."

With a slight pout, Cristina wrinkled her nose and went back about brushing her teeth.

After last night, they could call in sick for all she cared. The only thing that she knew is that she wanted a repeat. Night after night, for the rest of their lives.

When she finally emerged from the bedroom, reluctantly in a state of full dress, she found Owen with a cup of coffee brewed especially for her and she took it with a small smile. "I could get used to this."

"Me too," He admitted, reaching for his own cup. Owen watched her as she blew at the hot brown liquid before taking a sip, "Wyatt was right."

Cristina looked up, "Excuse me?"

"I was just saying…Wyatt was right. About you."

"Why does your shrink have anything to say about me. I'm not talking to her. You are." Cristina grumbled, her awesome night completely ruined by the woman that she had to like by obligation only because she was helping Owen.

"She just said that you wouldn't go to therapy. That people like you don't 'do' therapy." Owen shrugged nonchalantly, knowing exactly which buttons he was pressing on his beloved Cristina.

"I can do therapy. I can do therapy whenever I want." Cristina protested, putting down her coffee mug on the counter. "She doesn't know what she's talking about."

"No, she said that you couldn't go. You'd just work through things yourself because you're too scared to open up to somebody about everything."

Cristina crossed her arms, "Who the hell said just because I slept with you that I wasn't going to talk to someone? I said I'm talking to somebody and I will. Just because I figured out a way to sleep with you doesn't mean that I won't talk to somebody. I'm not scared of talking to somebody. That's ridiculous."

The thought may have crossed her mind not to do it, but there was clearly no way she could avoid it now.

Hell would freeze over before she'd let Wyatt be right about her.

Owen watched in amazement as Cristina went back about gathering her things and shook his head. He knew that her competitive edge often got the best of her, but he couldn't help but be astonished at the way he could use it to their advantage.

He knew it wouldn't be today or tomorrow, maybe not even in the next weeks or months- but Owen knew that their future was coming.

They were already on their way.

_Indeed, love is a strong emotion- but it makes it's home in the heart. How often do we stop talking, stop obsessing and just listen, just feel? Our heart aches when it's had too much, it longs when it hasn't had enough. It races when we're happy and stops when we're terrified. Love is a scary thing and oftentimes we spend so much time being afraid of it that we can never truly embrace it- but maybe, just maybe if we stop talking and just listen. Ask our hearts the question- feel the answer, because it's always there. We just have to learn to trust our hearts._


	12. Refuse Resist

_Resistance always seems to be working against us. We're so often unable to resist things that are bad for us—a decadent dessert, just one cigarette after a drink, maybe a person who we know is no good. And yet, when it comes to doing something that might actually help us, our resistance seems impenetrable. What is it about the ability to resist that always seems to work against our best interest?_

After parting ways with Owen in the hospital lobby, Cristina sat in the locker room with the same list of therapists in her hand. As she eyed the list, she imagined the knowing look Dr. Wyatt would give Owen should he tell her that Cristina had refused to go to therapy. Rolling her eyes at the image, Cristina's eyes focused particularly on the name she had circled on her list—Dr. Patel. After taking a deep breath, she flipped open her phone and dialed his number. She would squeeze herself into his schedule for today and get it over with. It would be easy enough to ham up some vaguely depressing story about her mother, come back for one session to follow up and be done. She hadn't been in a war—she didn't need the help that Owen did. After this was over, Owen would be able to move on, Dr. Wyatt would be wrong, and Cristina could just focus on slicing chests open.

"Dr. Patel's office."

"This is Cristina Yang. I need an appointment for this afternoon."

*******

Owen was flipping through a patient's chart by the nurse's station as Derek and Mark walked over mid-conversation. Derek sipped from his coffee, and Mark leaned heavily on the counter, looking off down the hall.

"She reminds me a little of Addison, so I guess she _is _your type," Derek said, after noting that Mark was staring at Dr. Moretti.

"Yeah, I guess I see it. Hey, Hunt, have you seen who they hired to head up cardio?" Mark asked, eyeing Moretti up and down as she stood talking to a resident outside a patient's room. "I've heard that she's a genius…and she's certainly got that gorgeous thing going for her." Owen raised his eyes up to Mark's for the briefest of moments and let out a sigh.

"Yeah, I've met her." Owen said simply, hoping his tone would be enough to change the subject. It wasn't.

"Think she's married?"

"Does it matter to you?" Derek said, with an amused grin.

"She's not." Owen responded all too quickly. Derek turned towards Owen and furrowed his brow lightly, knowing Owen not to be the type to pry. Owen looked up again to take note of the silence. "I mean…I don't think so. No ring or anything," he added.

"You've checked her out? I thought you were with Yang?"

"I haven't been checking her out…we had a conversation—you know, you can have those with women sometimes," Owen replied, hoping the barb would distract Derek who was still giving him a strange look. "And I didn't ask. You know I never ask."

"Anyway, I've got a consult. And Mark, why are you asking about her—aren't you babysitting this weekend?" Derek asked over his shoulder, laughing as he walked away.

"Ay-oh! Ladies and gentlemen he'll be here all night," Mark said dully as Owen smirked. "There's no harm in looking…"

"But can you stop at the looking?" Owen joked, giving Mark's arm a light smack.

"Why does no one around here think I can exercise restraint?" Mark rubbed the spot on his arm lightly with a sour expression, but it was quickly replaced with a smile as he saw Dr. Moretti walking towards them.

"Delicious cardio goddess at three o'clock" he said. For a second, Owen was foolish enough to think Mark was referring Cristina, but when he realized it was Dr. Moretti, he decided to make a quick exit. He reached for his pager and looked at it for a second.

"Oh—paged." he mumbled and walked in the opposite direction with his chart.

"I didn't hear any—" Mark started, calling after Owen but was soon cut off by Dr. Moretti.

"Looks like I scared someone off," Sofia said, her smile faltering. Mark took note of the slightly wistful look she gave Owen's retreating figure.

"Nah, I rarely see that guy stay anywhere more than two minutes," Mark said, waving his arm carelessly. Sofia shrugged with a sigh and put her chart down on the counter.

"Got any interesting cases today?"

*******

Cristina picked at her salad and took a bite. Meredith threw her tray down next to her and sighed.

"If I weren't so hungry, I think I'd just collapse instead," she said, taking a huge bite of her sandwich.

"Please don't tell me that you've reverted to your whiny phase," Cristina groaned.

"What's your problem?"

"I have a session today."

"Ah, and you're taking out your anger on an innocent third party?"

"Now isn't a great time to start trying to be funny, Mer."

"I'm surprised you're going. I thought you hated shrinks."

"I did…I mean, I do. But that's exactly why I'm going." Meredith paused for a moment, trying to understand.

"Make some sense."

"Wyatt thinks she has me pegged. She told Owen she was sure that I wouldn't go to a therapist. That woman doesn't know me, and I want _her_ to know that. So, I'm going…plus, I can tell Owen wants me to go. I think he'd be relieved if I went."

"As long as you are going to prove someone wrong, I get it." Meredith said, letting out a laugh.

"So tell me, how do I get out of it? What do I say to make him tell me I don't have to come back? What did you tell Wyatt?"

"Well…I don't think they ever tell you that you're completely fine. Wyatt said I wasn't done, but I thought I was so I left." Meredith looked thoughtful and took a sip of her juice. Cristina felt her stomach drop. If Meredith had gotten this much better and still hadn't been cleared, maybe Cristina couldn't get out of this so easily. And what would that mean for Owen? Would he be stuck in therapy forever?

"Oh great…" Cristina said sarcastically.

"Would it really be so terrible to give it a chance? It helped me, it helped Owen…"

"I'm not afraid. I just think it's a waste of time."

"I don't think I said anything about being afraid…"

"See, you're reading into stuff now. A couple sessions, and you start thinking like of them, huh?"

Meredith rolled her eyes and took another bite of her sandwich. In spite of herself, Cristina felt a couple butterflies in her stomach as she checked her watch.

*******

Cristina walked into Dr. Patel's office and immediately noticed that there was no long leather couch for her to lie down on. Apparently, that was some cliché that went out quite a while ago. Her eyes settled on the Indian man sitting at his desk.

"I'm sorry. Just one second," he said, signing a paper. He walked out and handed it to his secretary. "Give this to Louise for me. Thanks." Cristina remained just past the doorway. As he walked back in he turned and shook her hand. "I'm Dr. Patel. You must be Cristina?"

"Yes," Cristina managed. She found herself suddenly extremely conscientious of everything she said. Dr. Patel nodded.

"Well, as you know all we have time for is a quick initial session, since you were so eager to get in today. So, please have a seat and we'll get started," Cristina let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and sat down in the chair.

"So Cristina, what brought you to make this appointment?" Dr. Patel asked, cocking his head to one side. Cristina felt his gaze penetrating her, and suddenly her defenses went up.

"Can we not do the thing where you ask me questions that you already know the answers to?"

"Cristina," he started, adjusting himself in his seat. "These sessions will only help as much as you let them. If you just sit here and don't allow yourself to think and feel, it will be no different than not coming at all."

Cristina leaned on the hand that was propped up on the armrest. She sighed again and stopped her eye roll halfway.

"Okay…whatever." she said heavily. "What was the question?"

"Just a little background for me…why are you here?"

"Same reason as everyone else. Apparently I'm messed up and need to be fixed…" Cristina said leaning back. "Well, that, and I never back down from a challenge."

"You see therapy as a challenge?" he asked.

"No" Cristina scoffed. "That's not what I mean. I mean that someone, who thinks they have me pegged, thought I wouldn't go. I'm proving her wrong…among other things."

"So you're here because you always have to be right. And you don't want anyone thinking that they have you figured out…even if they do?"

"Pretty much. But anyone who knows me could have told you that."

"And who is it that knows you, Cristina?"

"Owen." Cristina responded instinctively. "And Meredith, obviously. Everyone else only gets pieces…"

"This Meredith…she's your best friend?"

"Yes…I don't think we need to talk about her. We've been close since we met and basically…we get each other through a lot."

"What have you gotten each other through?"

"You know…" Cristina shifted slightly, her discomfort growing. "Work problems…family problems…men problems…everything."

"I see…" Dr. Patel made a note and looked back up at her. "And Owen is a boyfriend?" Cristina nodded, leaning back in the couch again. "He's the other reason that I'm here."

"Things aren't going well with him?"

"No, they are. Well…it's complicated." Cristina snapped her mouth shut. She knew her last words were the most alluring bait one could throw out to a therapist in conversation. Cristina internally smacked herself and decided to try laughing it off. "Well, you know…what relationship isn't complicated? In the end, we love each other and we're happy."

"Then why did you say he is the reason that you're here?" Dr. Patel pushed, his brow furrowing ever so slightly.

"I… just misspoke," she lied. Dr. Patel nodded and made another note in his book. Cristina found it increasingly irritating every time he wrote something down. She was starting to find the room very uncomfortable. "So are we about done here?"

"Well, that's enough for now, I suppose," Dr. Patel said, leaning forward and interweaving his fingers.

"Great." Cristina jumped out of her chair and made for the door.

"Um, Cristina, could you hold on for just a moment?" He motioned for her to take her seat again, and she felt her shoulders sag as she abided his request. "This was just a preliminary meeting to get to know you and review your situation. From what I've read in your file—"

"There's a file on me? You have a file?"

"Yes…" he responded patiently. "We're doctors too, you know." Cristina resisted the urge to roll her eyes again. "Anyway, as I was saying…from what I've heard, I think we should be starting with two or three sessions a week and then—"

"What?!" Cristina's eyebrows flew up in surprise. "I'm sorry, there's no way I need to come here that often. I'm perfectly fine. I only came here because of Dr. Wyatt. There's no need to overprescribe me just because I'm here."

"Cristina, the fact that those are the reasons you came to therapy are just symptoms of a greater problem. One that you need to talk through—you need to work out what's going on in your life instead of bottling your emotions inside," he urged.

"You know, by your definition, I bet everybody needs therapy. Thanks, but no thanks." Cristina opened the door and stalked out, ignoring the secretary asking when she would like to schedule her next appointment.

*******

Cristina in the general direction of the ER, but for once in her life she was in no rush to get there. The fact that this "doctor" had told her that she needed serious emotional help was annoying to say the least. Cristina hadn't really expected it to be so difficult to have a session or two and be done with it—but Dr. Patel had ruined those plans. Overall her first session had definitely not gone as planned, and she doubted that it would have been better had it been a different shrink. As she mulled this over, she felt a hand snake around her waist and a warm tickle on the side of her neck. She snapped out of her reverie and laughed.

"How's your day been?" she asked, putting her arm on his and turning to face Owen.

"Okay. Fixed up a girl that got in a bicycle accident. And I got a call from my landlord…apparently they're repainting everything. What about you?"

"I went to see someone today," Cristina responded vaguely.

"Oh yeah? Who's that…your other boyfriend?" Owen asked playfully, nipping her just below her ear. Cristina laughed again and felt her mood improving. Even after that fairly disastrous session, Owen managed to make her feel better by just being there.

"No, I mean…I went to see a shrink." As expected, she felt Owen retract his mouth quickly and look at her seriously. "You did? Already? Oh, wait." Owen took her arm and led her into a nearby on-call room. "Okay, now…tell me how it went."

"Yeah, well. I made an appointment this morning…it was just a quick evaluation type thing."

"Don't downplay it, I know it was a big deal for you." He looked at her lovingly while his fingers played lightly with some of her curls. "How did it go?"

"Well…you know, it was strange. I'm not exactly the most receptive person when it comes to that kind of thing," Cristina found the anger and annoyance from the session dissipating with each moment she saw the look of mixed happiness and calm on Owen's face. He pulled her close and covered her mouth with his. In his kiss she could feel the relief, the joy…everything that he was feeling as a result of her session. She felt herself melting into it and as she did she started to wonder if maybe the therapy thing wasn't so bad. It made Owen so happy…and if this was how he reacted every time she came back from a session, she would schedule one every day. Maybe therapy was annoying and unnecessary…but this was definitely worth it. She felt herself let out a moan against his mouth as the pads of his thumbs worked lazy circles on the sides of her waist. He brushed a couple books off the counter and lifted her up onto it. Cristina wrapped her arms and legs around him as he his mouth moved down past her neck when—they both let out frustrated groans as Cristina's pager went off. Owen buried his face in her chest and sighed.

"To be continued?" Cristina offered, stroking his hair. "Don't forget how proud you are…I want to reap the full benefits later."

Owen lifted his head and pulled her lips towards him again.

"I definitely won't forget," he reassured her once they broke apart, whispering lightly on her lips. Cristina jumped down off the counter and walked towards the door. She straightened her top and threw Owen a wink as she tied her hair up in a messy bun. He ran up and gave her ass a quick tap just before she ran out the door.

*******

His shift now over, Owen saw Cristina was still in surgery and decided to make a quick stop to visit George. When he reached the room, he saw Alex in a chair with his feet up on the counter. He got the sense that despite the fact that they weren't close before, Alex felt a need to be with George whenever he was alone…as if he stayed twice as long to fill in time that Izzie would have spent by his hospital bed. Alex, who had been staring off into space, visibly refocused his attention back to reality once Owen walked inside.

"Oh, sorry. I'll stop by later, O'Malley," Owen said, nodding to Alex.

"No, I was just leaving," Alex said, planting his feet on the floor and getting up. Given their last conversation, Owen had a feeling that Alex was probably still not too keen on seeing him. However, Alex walked to the doorway and stood next to Owen.

"Karev." Owen nodded at him.

"Dr. Hunt…I'm…" Alex looked as though he wanted to say something, but instead he sucked in his upper lip, looked over at George, and sighed. "He's doing better…just needs more time, you know? But each day…it gets better." Owen could sense that Alex wasn't just talking about George. Owen nodded.

"I'm glad to hear that." Owen gave Alex a look of compassion and a pat on the arm as he walked past him into George's room. After taking a glance at his chart and numbers, Owen noted that Alex was right. George was slowly, but steadily, improving.

"Dr. Hunt," George said quietly.

"O'Malley…your numbers are looking good."

"I try," George said, a smiling crinkling the features on his face. "How are you?"

"I'm great…you know, saved a life and all that."

"There's something else, isn't there?" George said. Owen was taken aback. But maybe finally being in one place for some time, while everyone around you kept moving, made you better at reading people. "How's Cristina doing?" Owen couldn't help but smile at the mention of her name and he took the seat next to George.

"She's doing well…she's—"

"—going to therapy?" George finished, forcing an innocent look on his face.

"How did you know?"

"Meredith…when she comes in here, she always wants to be saying something. I guess it sort of slipped out."

"Oh, well…yes, she is. I'm glad. I think it could be good for her," Owen said, playing with a pen from his pocket.

"It could. But she's a vault. It will take one hell of a therapist to pull anything out of her."

"Well…we'll see. At least she's making the effort." Despite George's skepticism, Owen couldn't help but feel a warmth inside at the thought of what Cristina was willing to do for them. And as his conversation with George continued on to sports, Owen's smile never faded.

_Our natural disposition is to want the easy way out. We're afraid of giving in to what we can't control, so we put up one hell of a fight. But once we realize that putting up that fight is much harder than giving in to what can help us, we may find that each day gets a little easier. Slowly, ever so slowly, we realize that maybe this isn't so bad…and while it might not be comfortable, it will only lead to a better you somewhere down the road._


	13. Holding Out For a Hero

This chapter written by Angelamermaid

_What makes a person a hero? Do they have to be born with incredible super-powers, or can they be the person that just passed you in the street? What does it take to stand out from the crowd? Are heroes born or are they made?_

**

_His hands were around her neck again. She fought back, wanting to kick him away, but her legs were pinned by his. She scratched at his arms, his neck, as he put his weight into his hands. She stared up at his empty eyes, mentally pleading with him to wake up, since she had no voice. But there was nothing human in those dark and hollow eyes. She had no air. Everything was going black, then there was a flash of white …_

"Cristina!"

Cristina sat up, gasping. She stared at Callie and Arizona, standing in the open doorway, Callie was holding a frying pan menacingly, while Arizona's hand was on the light switch.

"_Where is he?_" Callie demanded.

"_Who?_" Cristina blinked in confusion. She looked around, squinting her eyes against the light that Arizona had turned on.

"Owen! We heard you screaming!"

Cristina sighed. "He's spending the night at the hospital. He's not here. I was having a - bad dream. By myself."

"Why were you looking for Owen?" Arizona asked Callie. Cristina looked at her roommate, silently pleading for discretion.

Callie relaxed a bit. "_Oh_. I, uh, don't know. I thought he might be spending the night here. And, um, got scared off by the screaming." She loosened her stance, letting the frying pan dangle.

"That was quite the dream," Arizona said, looking at Cristina with concern. "Do you have them often?"

"No," Cristina said, unconsciously rubbing her neck. "I, um, dreamed I couldn't operate any more. Scary."

Callie sat down on the edge of her bed. "Want to talk about it?"

"No."

Arizona sat down beside Callie. "Want us to stay with you for a bit?"

"No."

"Too bad," Callie said firmly. "You scared us really bad with your screaming, _we_ need to keep you company."

"Can I get you some water?" Arizona offered. "Let us do something."

"Fine, water would be nice," Cristina murmured, staring at her hands in her lap. Arizona smiled sympathetically and left the room.

"Thanks for not saying anything," Cristina said quietly to Callie.

"She doesn't need to know all the details," Callie said. "She knows that Owen has been having a rough time, which she understands from her brother's experiences. Frankly, she admires him for serving in Iraq."

Cristina smiled softly.

"The nightmare wasn't about you not being able to operate, was it?" Callie asked softly.

Cristina looked down and shrugged. "I don't get them that much. It's no big deal."

Callie opened her mouth to say something, but closed it when Arizona entered the room. Cristina thanked her for the water and took a sip.

"What happened there?" Arizona asked, looking up at the damaged fan in the ceiling.

"Home renovation gone bad," Cristina muttered.

**

Mark Sloan, like many men, was not sentimental about anniversaries, never really remembered events the way many women did. He couldn't recall the exact moment that he chose to go into medicine, or when he first entertained the thought of sleeping with Addison, or even when he decided to work Seattle Grace. These things just happened.

But he remembered when he first wanted Sofia Moretti for himself.

She was leaning against a nurses' station, watching something. Her face was slightly flushed, her lush lips parted. She was _gorgeous_.

Mark stopped in his tracks. _Holy fuck_, he thought. He'd noticed her beauty when she first arrived at Seattle Grace. It was hard not to. But now she was – arousing. He could have taken her right then and there, had she been looking in his direction.

Mark turned to see of the object of her desire. And did a double-take. She was watching Owen Hunt and Cristina Yang, who were standing together off to the side. Mark's eyes flipped back and forth. Owen casually lifted a hand and brushed a curl off of Cristina's face. Sofia unconsciously lifted her hand to her cheek briefly.

_What the hell?_ he thought. He thought back to wistful glances he'd seen her give to Owen. _Moretti's got it bad for Hunt?_ He looked back at the couple, who were gazing at each other as if they were the only people in the world.

_There's a lost cause_. Mark didn't know much about Owen and Cristina's relationship, nor did he care to. He knew they were serious - any idiot could see that. He'd witnessed that at Stevens' funeral - saw Hunt escort Yang out of the chapel when she lost it, then carried her out like some big damn hero. Sloan thought Yang was a great surgeon, but they had little to say to each other outside of an OR. Hunt - had proved himself to be more than a meatballer. Mark certainly appreciated his discretion, and more importantly, his surgical skills on his favourite body part. Owen was a guy who'd have a beer with you, then make sure you got home safely. And he wouldn't tell your girlfriend that you flirted with every woman in the bar.

_Big damn hero_. Mark considered Moretti carefully. It was rare that a woman ignored his flirting - and it bothered him that she did. He liked all sorts of women and she was his favourite kind - sophisticated, funny, and very, very hot. But apparently he wasn't her kind of man.

She was still watching Yang and Hunt. She didn't notice that her clipboard was pushing up against a calendar on the desk, and it was slowly inching over the edge.

_Big damn hero_. Mark swiftly walked up and grabbed the calendar. "Watch it there," he smiled at Moretti. She snapped out of her reverie to stare at him. He gestured to the desk calendar in his hand. "You almost knocked it off. Thinking about your next case?"

She nodded and straightened her lab coat. "Why yes. Thanks for catching that." Mark noticed that her skin was slightly flushed. Mark glanced quickly at the couple. _What would Hunt do?_

He was distracted by his pager. He checked it and sighed. _Lexie_. Then he mentally kicked himself. Why should he care if Moretti had the hots for Hunt, when he had a girlfriend? Sure, Lexie looked like a teeny-bopper next to Sofia, and she didn't get his jokes, didn't understand why he held onto such archaic items like record albums, didn't participate when he and her dad talked about sports games or TV shows from the past. She had been very good for him.

_Had_. He smiled at Moretti and bowed slightly. "I, ah, have some business to tend to. Have a good day, ma'am." He cursed himself as he walked away. _What am I doing?_

"She's watching you again," Cristina murmured to Owen as they stood together.

"I'm watching you," he pointed out.

"Well, let's go elsewhere, before I shout at her to 'take a picture, it'll last longer'."

He chuckled, then gently took her by the elbow and guided her around the corner.

**

Owen was in his office, going over a file, when Mark knocked on his door, bearing coffee.

"Thanks Mark," he said, accepting the proffered cup. "What brings you by?"

Mark closed the door and sat down. "You and Yang. How did that happen?"

Owen stared at him in surprise, then laughed. "A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell, Mark."

"So – you just kissed her?"

"I didn't say that!" Owen protested. "Why are you asking?"

"I'm just curious," Mark said. "You two are an interesting pair. What do you do on dates?"

Owen stared at him in confusion. "Again, a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell. Why the sudden interest in us? Are you looking to double-date?"

"I hardly know you," Mark said. "We're both heads of departments, we have Derek in common these days, we should know more about each other. Who was your first girlfriend?"

Owen laughed nervously. "Her name was Maureen and she was on the lacrosse team. You?"

"One of Derek's sisters. What is that Yang likes about you?"

"I don't ask personal questions out of the blue."

"Very funny. You know, I've noticed that the women around here love you. Except for when O'Malley enlisted. Is it because of this gentleman thing?"

"They love you too. Until you break their hearts. And they have loved you a _lot_, from what I've heard."

"I thought you don't get involved with gossip, Hunt."

"It's hard to avoid in the middle of surgery. Especially when two or more of _your_ conquests are comparing notes with each other."

Mark smiled. "_Really?_ What do they say?"

Owen shook his head. "Not going there."

Mark considered his words thoughtfully. "Gentleman's rules of conduct?"

Owen nodded and smiled.

"So how does that work? You hold doors open for women and call them 'Ma'am' and you don't gossip?"

"That's part of it. Although you need to be careful of 'Ma'am'. Use it wisely, otherwise the lady might think you're implying she's old."

"This is good," Mark said. "Tell me more."

Owen sighed. "Were you raised by wolves, Mark? A gentleman respects women as professionals, he doesn't swagger up to someone and stare at her breasts, like I hear _somebody_ does. A gentleman will remark on the little things he likes about his lady, like how she looks when she wears her hair up, or how efficiently she can suture a wound."

Mark looked thoughtful. "So that's how _you_ woo a woman?"

Owen laughed again. "_Why_ are you doing this? Are you having problems with Lexie? I fix bodies, not relationships."

"I'm not asking for Lexie," Mark grimaced. "I'm, um, testing new waters."

"Oh, I didn't realize that you'd broken up, sorry."

"We haven't broken up _yet_ ..."

Owen held up a hand. "Then I definitely don't want to know. Or assist in any way."

"Dude! Help a brother out!"

"A gentleman doesn't help a 'brother' out with cheating," Owen smiled tightly. "But if the next one breaks your penis, you know where to find me."

"You are no fun," Mark pouted.

"And you are no gentleman," Owen grinned.

**

Meredith and Cristina looked up as Bailey came charging up to them.

"You two!" Bailey barked. "Where are the interns?"

"I thought they were with you?" Meredith replied as Cristina shrugged.

"Karev requested them and now he's ignoring my pages," Bailey said impatiently. "Why?"

"We don't know."

"Find them!" Bailey ordered. "Then send two to the clinic STAT." She marched away.

"If they're operating on themselves again, I _will_ kill them," Cristina said grimly. "I'll check the Pit and you check the basement, okay?"

"Okay."

Cristina made her way down to the Pit, heading straight for Owen.

"Dr Yang," he said pleasantly.

"Dr Hunt. Have you seen the interns or Karev?"

He frowned. "They were heading out the door to the ambulance bay a while ago. If you find them, send a couple my way if you can. Is there a problem?"

"Bailey's on the warpath today. See you!" She waved as she marched outside.

She rounded a corner and raised her eyebrows to see a makeshift basketball court. Karev was shouting at the interns, who were lined up to shoot hoops. The pregnant one – Cristina didn't know her name – was keeping score and looking miserable.

"Hey Karev!" Cristina shouted. "What the hell is going on? Bailey needs a couple of interns in the clinic!"

The interns stopped what they were doing. She curiously noted they looked happy to be interrupted.

"Megan, who has the most points?" Karev asked.

She consulted her notes. "Steve and Graciela are tied for first."

"Okay, you two, want to go to the clinic now?" They nodded eagerly as the others looked disappointed.

"Need any more?"

"Hunt wants a couple for the Pit," Cristina said, frowning.

"Pierce and Lexie are next," Megan offered.

"To the Pit, then!"

"_What is going on?_" Cristina hissed at Alex. "This is a hospital, not a playground."

"I'm just trying something different," Alex shrugged.

Cristina opened her mouth to say more, but was interrupted by her pager. "Gotta go. Don't hog the interns too much, okay?"

"Okay."

**

Sofia Moretti tried to juggle three clipboards and two files as she walked towards her office. She raised an eyebrow when she saw a tall man standing outside of her door, his back to her. She smiled hopefully - then quizzically, as he turned around and was Mark Sloan.

"Sofia!" He greeted her enthusiastically. "Let me help you with those." He quickly grabbed a falling clipboard, and helped her arrange her load.

"Thank you Dr Sloan," she said. "Were you waiting for me?"

"Yes, yes I was." He paused. "I like your earrings."

"Oh - thanks," she said. She brightened when Owen Hunt walked around the corner.

"Dr Hunt!"

"Dr Moretti, Dr Sloan," he nodded. Mark stood a little taller, while Owen took a step back.

"Were you looking for me, Dr Hunt?" Sofia asked.

"No," he said quickly. "Dr Yang. We need a consult down in the Pit and I-"

"I can help," she offered. "I'd love to see the action in your Pit, see how you operate."

"Um, okay," Owen smiled politely. "If I'm not interrupting you and Dr Sloan here."

"Oh!" she turned and faced Mark. "I'm sorry, what did you want to see me for?"

"I have heard the nicest things about the way you operate," Mark said. "I was wondering if I could observe _you_ in action sometime. I hear you're terrific with a suture gun."

_Oh no_, Owen thought, watching Sofia's confused reaction. _This won't end well_. He coughed so he could hide a smile behind his hand.

"Er - sure," Sofia said, glancing at Mark before turning to Owen. "Let me just dump these files and I'll come down to the Pit with you for the consult."

"Can I come too?" Sloan asked. "I don't see enough of the Pit. And I thought about going into cardio before I decided on plastic surgery…"

"Yeah whatever," Owen said. He waited as Mark insisted on helping Sofie unload her files in her office.

"Let me get the elevator for you," Mark told Sofia. Owen walked behind them, shaking his head in amusement.

**

Cristina sat in her chair in Dr Patel's office and scowled. He watched her with a slight smile.

"So why did you tell my secretary that you _needed_ to see me today?"

"I had a nightmare," she said. "Tell me how to make them go away."

"You've had this nightmare before?"

She nodded.

"What happens in it?"

"Just tell me how to make it stop," she snapped. "Medication? Hypnosis?"

"You are an unlikely candidate for hypnosis, even if I did perform it," he smiled kindly. "And my first instinct is not to hand out drugs. How often do you have the nightmare?"

"Not very often," she said.

"And how do you define not very often? Once a week? Once a month?"

"It doesn't matter," she replied. "Why won't you help me?"

"Why won't you let me?" he asked calmly. "You show up and demand to be fixed, but you still haven't told me why you want to come, why your friends want you to come, and now I'm supposed to help you prevent nightmares that you won't tell me about?"

Cristina stared at him. "I never said I wanted to come."

"Okay. You don't want to come, so I assume you are coming here to please others."

"I'm here to prove others wrong."

"Who is in the nightmare, Cristina?"

She looked down at the rug below her feet.

"If a patient came up to you and demanded that you operate, but wouldn't tell you what his or her symptoms were, and wouldn't let you examine them, you'd tell the patient to take a hike, wouldn't you?"

She looked up briefly to glare at him.

"You said that Owen is one of the reasons you're here. Is he in the nightmare?"

Cristina drew in a sharp breath. "No," she lied, keeping her eyes on the floor.

"Who is in the nightmare?"

"My father," she said quickly. Then mentally cursed herself. _Stupid stupid stupid._

Dr Patel leaned forward. "Tell me more."

**

Owen directed his colleagues to a bed in the Pit, which was curtained off.

"Allow me," Mark smiled at Moretti, pulling back the curtain for her. He dropped the curtain in front of Owen's face. The redhaired man shook his head again and opened the curtain, stepping behind Sloan.

"This is still my ER," Hunt said quietly in Mark's ear. "_Behave_."

"You're a lucky woman," Sloan told the patient, a middle-aged woman.

"I am?" she asked incredulously. "How lucky can I be if I'm in an ER?"

"The Head of Cardio, Dr Sofia Moretti, is here to personally examine you," Mark continued, grandly gesturing to Dr Moretti. "She doesn't come down here for just anyone."

Owen looked at the ceiling and silently counted to five.

"And we have the Head of the Trauma department, Dr Owen Hunt, here as well," Sofia smiled, pointing to Owen.

"Nice to meet you ma'am," Owen smiled, shaking her hand.

"Who's he?" the patient asked Owen, nodding at Mark.

"Dr Mark Sloan, _ma'am_, Head of Plastic Surgery," Mark replied, stepping forward eagerly, hand extended.

"Plastic – Plastic Surgery?" The patient looked confused as she shook his hand. "I came in with a sore arm!"

"Dr Sloan has exhibited a sudden and passionate interest in cardiology," Owen explained. "This is a teaching hospital, so he would like to observe, and _he will do nothing else_, if that's okay with you."

"I guess so," she replied faintly. Mark smiled gallantly at Sofia.

"Dr Moretti? You may begin," Owen prompted her.

**

"I thought we were going to have lunch together," Meredith said, coming up from behind Cristina in the locker room.

"Were we? Sorry." Cristina closed her locker and turned to face her friend. They were alone in the room.

"Callie just told me about the nightmare."

"Blabbermouth."

"She's looking out for you. We both are." Meredith held up a hand before Cristina could protest. "We are not worried about Owen, we are worried about _you_."

Cristina sighed. "I had another session with Dr Patel this morning, okay?"

Her friend nodded. "Okay."

"And I _don't_ want to talk about it."

"Okay."

**

Dr Moretti finished her examination of Hunt's patient, then stepped outside of the curtains and off to the side to consult with him. With Mark following her closely.

"You have a terrific bedside manner," Mark complimented her. "I think the patient felt very comforted by you."

Sofia stared at him briefly before turning her attention to Owen. "You were right to call for a cardio consult. Now-"

"Can I get you a coffee?" Mark asked. "I prefer cappuccino myself, how do you like your coffee?"

"Just cream, please," she replied. "About the patient –"

"Hey Pierce!" Mark yelled at an intern. "Get the lady a coffee with cream!"

Owen stifled a grin as Sofia's eyes widened. His attention was diverted by the sudden wail of a siren outside.

"Excuse me," he said to Sofia and Mark before rushing away.

Mark noticed how Sofia's eyes followed Owen. "You're wasting your time," he said quietly.

"I beg your pardon?" She turned and glared at him. "What do you mean by that?"

"I've seen how your eyes follow Hunt," Mark said. "He's with Yang. He doesn't give you a second glance. You can do better."

"This is very inappropriate," she exclaimed. "You -"

"You should be with someone who sees how beautiful you are," Mark whispered, moving closer. "Who sees the blush on your skin, notices the sparkle in your eyes. Who sees that you're the most beautiful woman alive. He doesn't see that at all."

Surprised, Sofia stared at Mark. A brunette curl fell on her cheekbone. He reached up and brushed it to the side. Neither of them noticed Lexie Grey staring at them a few beds away.

"Here's your coffee!" Pierce said, running up with a cup.

"Um, thanks," Sofia said, accepting the cup. Mark glared at him.

"What?" Pierce asked.

**

Meredith cried out "Watch it!" when someone stumbled out of the Pit and almost ran her over in the corridor. She softened her expression when she saw it was Lexie, who was clearly on the verge of tears.

"Come on," she said not unkindly, guiding her sister into an empty exam room. She let Lexie regain control of herself, watching her as she sniffled and paced back and forth.

"I – he – they - oh!" Lexie sputtered. "_I am having a terrible day!_"

"Start at the beginning," Meredith advised.

"_Alex!_" Lexie shouted. "He's making us interns do dumb stuff like play cards and basketball if we want our choice of assignments! He's wasting our time!"

"What?" Meredith asked. "Why is he doing that?"

"_I don't know!_" the younger woman shouted. "I tried asking him and he just said that we need to have fun! I don't want to have fun! I want to learn how to cut people open and save lives!"

"Okay, okay." Meredith thought for a second. "This sounds like a case for Bailey."

Lexie sniffled again. "And Mark is flirting with Sofia Moretti."

**

Cristina walked into George's room, and wasn't surprised to see Alex keeping him company. O'Malley was sitting up, resting against many pillows.

"How are my numbers?" George teased Cristina, as she started checking all of the machinery around him.

"Smart ass," she muttered, with a slight smile. George watched her carefully, noting how clinical her movements were. He was curious about the therapy that Meredith mentioned, but knew better to ask questions. He had enough injuries as it was.

"Karev, _what_ are you doing to the interns?" Bailey demanded, bursting into the room, Meredith in tow. He looked up at her in surprise.

"Um, nothing. Why?"

"They don't want to be assigned to you any more," Meredith explained. "They're complaining that you _made_ them play basketball this morning?"

"Basketball is great!" Alex protested. "They had fun!"

"They didn't look like they were having fun," Cristina noted drily.

"Why did you pull the interns away from their jobs to play basketball?" Bailey asked. "And why did they say you made them play poker yesterday?"

"Poker?" George asked weakly.

Alex sighed and looked at his feet. "I was just trying to make things fun. Whoever scored the most points could go to the service of their choosing for the day."

"What?!? This is a hospital! _Why_ would you think that is acceptable?"

Alex kept his head down. "Well - Izzie made things fun for them, nobody complained about that."

Meredith bit her lips as Bailey stared. George looked away. Cristina grabbed George's chart and pretended to read it.

"She was right," Alex continued quietly. "The interns were miserable learning from us, so she figured out how to make learning fun for them. I thought she'd want someone to keep making it fun..."

The women exchanged meaningful glances as George regarded Alex thoughtfully. Bailey took in a deep breath.

"That's true, she did. She had a knack for teaching them while keeping them engaged. I admire the way that she took responsibility for them."

Alex glanced up.

"May I kindly point out that her activities were also related to _surgery_ and _medicine_, not making people score points before they can learn. I think you have good intentions, Karev, perhaps you can think of ways to _teach_ while having fun in your own way." With that, Bailey turned and left.

"I screwed up, didn't I?" Alex asked the others.

"Yes," Meredith smiled.

"Big time," George added.

"Idiot," Cristina smirked.

"But we can help you think of a way for you to make it up to them," Meredith decided. "Right guys?"

"I got nothing better to do," George replied, prompting a snort from Alex. "It wasn't _strip_ poker, was it?"

"O'Malley is becoming a smart ass," Karev marvelled.

"I don't do fun," Cristina said, putting the chart away. She wondered why George and Alex were suddenly grinning and looking behind her. She turned and saw Owen standing outside of George's room.

"Oh I think you do - _fun_," Meredith teased. "Go have _fun_ with GI Joe while we clean up Alex's mess."

"Whatever," she muttered, ignoring their laughter as she left the room. Owen nodded at everyone as Cristina pulled him out of their sight and into a supply closet.

"What's wrong?" Owen asked, stroking Cristina's face, which was drawn and stressed.

"Rough day," she said. He kissed her. "I, um, saw Dr Patel again today. It wasn't - well, fun."

"It's not supposed to be," he said. "But I am glad you gave it another try."

She nodded. "Listen, Arizona asked if I could spend tonight elsewhere because she has special plans for Callie. Can we go to your place?"

"Of course."

**

"_What_ is that smell?" Cristina complained as they entered Owen's apartment building, armed with take-out pizza.

"The landlord is doing some renovating," he shrugged. "Using cheap paint, by the smell of it."

He hoped that his apartment would smell better, but it didn't. The bedroom had been painted, and the windows left shut.

Cristina rubbed her forehead. "I'm sorry, but I can't sleep here tonight. I'm already getting a headache from the fumes. I'll – go grab an on call room or something."

Owen shook his head. Then he smiled. "What was that you said about us trying to share a bed in a hotel?

"Room service, hot sex, king-sized bed?"

"We don't need room service," he said, holding up the box of pizza. "Grab your bag, Yang, while I call the nearest hotel."

**

"You got a _suite_?" Cristina looked around, surprised. "Owen, this is too much."

"No it isn't," he scoffed, closing and locking the door behind them. "My treat. Let's eat."

They hungrily dug into the food, Owen watching Cristina carefully.

"What?"

"You look really stressed," he said quietly. "Care to talk about it?"

"No," she said, before taking a big bite. She tried to think of something pleasant. Unlike her session with Dr Patel. Unlike the nightmares that she wasn't telling Owen about.

"That's okay. I can help you relax," he said smoothly.

"Very confident about the hot sex are we?"

"Yes. And for your information, I asked for a suite with a whirlpool bath."

"Why didn't you say so?" She swallowed the last of her slice and stood up, pulling off her shirt. She was naked by the time she got to the bathroom. She grinned and rubbed her hands together when she saw the huge bathtub with all sorts of nozzles. By the time Owen joined her, she was already deep in warm bubbling water and looking happier.

"No offence, but I already like this suite better than your place," she sighed, settling against his chest in his arms, stretching out in the soothing water.

"Are you saying I need to move?"

"You could live here. Sloan lived in a hotel, you know."

Owen chuckled as he stroked her arms.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing," he said. "Sloan was – not himself - today, that's all."

"Tell me."

"You know I don't gossip."

"You know I'll splash you until you tell." She scooped up some water.

"I give," he laughed. "How shall I put this – he asked me how I 'woo' women."

Cristina turned and stared at Owen. "Uh – why?"

"He seems to think his technique lacks a certain refinement."

"And he thinks _you're_ refined?"

Owen grinned and splashed her.

"Oh you _didn't_," she laughed, splashing him back. He lunged forward and grabbed her, tickling her until she was howling with laughter and kicking madly, splashing water everywhere.

"You _beast_," she accused him, trying to catch her breath. He laughed, and reached for a miniature bottle of shampoo.

"What are you doing?" she asked, as he pulled her closer to him.

"Taking care of my woman," he drawled. He squeezed some shampoo into his hands and then started working it through her hair.

"Your what?"

"I think you like the beastly type."

"I think you're wrong. And why are you washing my hair?"

"What, nobody's ever washed your hair before?"

"Only in a hair salon."

"Relax Yang," he said amiably. "I'm just taking care of you after a long day."

"Are you going to cut and style my hair too?" she teased.

"No," he snorted. "I like your hair just the way it is."

She smiled and moved a little closer to him. His hands felt great against her scalp, massaging with just the right amount of pressure. She hugged her knees and let her head fall back. He found a spray nozzle and rinsed out her hair.

"If you worked in a salon, you'd have a line of women at your shampoo station all day long," she murmured.

"I think I've got enough of that at work," he joked. She sat straight up and moved away.

"Hey, it was just a joke," Owen said. "I'm sorry, Cristina."

Her shoulders sagged. "I'm just really tired of her watching you all the time. I know, _I know_, that you are not interested in her and that you love me, but why can't she go stalk someone else?"

He gently caressed her shoulders. "I'll tell you a secret. Somebody wants to woo her, and it isn't me. I bet you can guess who."

She turned her head. "Mark?"

"Uh huh. Not that I approve of him flirting with Moretti while he has a girlfriend, but it was sort of funny to watch. He's as bad at wooing her as he was with you."

She smiled. "Owen Hunt. You gossipped."

He nuzzled her shoulder. "You're corrupting me. Feel better?"

"Yes." She leaned back and kissed him.

"Good."

"Now where is my hot sex?"

He laughed. "In or out of the tub?"

"Out," she decided. "Pruney fingers are not sexy."

"Yes ma'am!" He got out first then helped her out, stealing a few kisses.

"I needed this," she murmured as they towelled each other off. "It's been a long day."

"You looked tired when you came in this morning," he said. "How much sleep did you get?"

She stiffened and looked away.

"Now what did I say?" he asked quietly.

"Nothing," she said, leaning against him. "Just – Dr Patel asked me about my sleep habits, and I don't want to reminded of him. And no, I don't want to talk about it."

"I'm not asking you to tell me what's bothering you," he whispered, stroking her damp hair gently. "I just want to take care of you. Let me take care of you tonight, Cristina."

She wrapped her arms around his waist, closing her eyes and trying to relax. _It would be so nice if he could take everything away._

"You just have to be the big damn hero, don't you?"

"Yes," he chuckled.

"Like the night we met?"

"Like the night we met. I took good care of you, didn't I?" Owen breathed against her ear. He lightly rubbed his growing erection against her.

"Very good care," she agreed. "Have you ever thought - what would have happened if I hadn't stopped the kiss?"

He grinned. "I thought about that a _lot_. You?"

"Oh yes." She kissed him. "What would you have done?"

"I would have taken _excellent_ care of you." His husky words raised goosebumps.

"Tell me about it."

"I'll show you." He scooped her up and carried her out of the bathroom.

"What would you have done first?"

"I would have locked the door," he said, carefully placing her on the bed. He pulled back the blanket and sheets. "Then I would have removed your gown and your bra. The bra was navy blue."

"You peeked!"

"Damn right I did." He leaned over her. "Then I would have done this." He took a breast into his mouth, suckling it. She sighed, feeling her muscles relax. He gently licked and nibbled, letting his hands roam freely over her damp skin.

"I would have liked this. I would have liked this a lot."

He laughed. "I probably would have taken off my jacket and t-shirt next, since it would have been getting very hot."

"You would have been sweating, yes. And I would have tried to sit up and help you take them off so I could check out your muscles."

"And I would have stopped you from sitting up, and pulled off your shoes and socks and scrub pants. And then your panties. What colour were those?"

"Black."

"Nice. Since you were freshly stitched, I would have gotten you off before anything else, to make sure your needs were met." With that, he gently tugged her hips so that her ass was at the edge of the bed. He knelt between her legs and lapped at her juices, causing her to buck a little. He slowly inserted a finger into her, as he sucked and licked. She smiled, arching her back, starting to feel blissful. He added another finger, then carefully probed inside for her sensitive spot. She moaned when he found it, wrapping her legs around his head as she squeezed her breasts.

"I would have told you to never stop," she said lazily. He laughed.

He teased her to the brink a couple of times, feeling her muscles relax as she let him know just how much she appreciated the care he was doing. He really did love taking care of her, he loved the noises coming from her, he loved the way her hips were slowly rocking as he continued to love on her. He loved that they simply fit together very well.

Her legs were growing restless, so he started moving his fingers faster, sucked harder on her. She groaned, arching her back, still massaging her breasts. He didn't stop when she started to shudder, he kept going through her climax until she relaxed, and kicked him away.

"I would have insisted that you fuck me right away after that," she smiled. He leaned over her again and kissed her.

"And then you would have gotten naked," she prompted him.

"Bossy! Yes, I would have gotten naked. My right leg would have been aching by then, but I wouldn't have cared. I would have lifted your legs like so and obeyed your command." He carefully leaned over her, as if she were still injured, threw her legs over his shoulders, and entered her with one smooth thrust. She bit her lower lip.

"And then I would have insisted 'Seriously, never stop.'"

He smiled down at her, maintaining eye contact as he moved back and forth, slowly pulling back, then filling her over and over with firm strokes. She moved her hips, seeking maximum penetration. She loved this angle, this friction, how deeply he was filling her. She watched his eyes change, from warm and languid, to heated and intense. She slipped a hand between them to stroke herself, and he grinned. _So damn sexy_, she thought, forgetting everything that had happened that day prior to this moment. They moved together in harmony, gasping and grunting and watching each other's eyes.

When she arched against him and wailed a little as she climaxed again, his eyes glazed over and he bucked hard into her, exploding, his thrusting becoming ragged and uneven until he was spent. As they started to descend into reality, he rolled over so he was lying on her left. She flipped over and he took her in his arms. They laid there, gasping and letting their bodies cool.

Finally she spoke. "And then what would you have done?" They laughed and then he kissed her soundly. They got underneath the sheets and laid there for a while, limbs entangled, just kissing. Her eyelids started to droop.

"What, um, do you want to do about sleeping arrangements?" he asked, gesturing to the couch in the suite.

She sighed and closed her eyes. _Oh right …_

"Whatever you want, Cristina," he whispered in her ear.

She thought for a moment. "Stay with me at least until I fall asleep," she whispered back. _I don't have nightmares when you're in the room_.

**

_Surgeons are often labelled heroes, for the miracles we create with our scalpels. For many people, the heroic response comes naturally. They don't think, they act. They don't know how not to be a hero, it just comes naturally_


	14. Sledgehammer

**Author: ohcyfan (and yes, my turn is out of order...)**

**Once again, special thanks go to my partners in crime: BNScrubnurse, Angelamermaid, Hopecrowe and Shli. They are the best!  
**

---------------

_**Sometimes, when things aren't quite right, the universe gives us a sign. It might be a dream, or a nightmare, or the fortune in a cookie - or even something as mundane as a butterfly settling on a flower. It might be a coincidental meeting where we notice something we might have otherwise overlooked. But we have to be attuned to it - ready to receive the message - or we can miss even the most obvious of signs. And when that happens, we have to live with the consequences...**_

_No air. She had no air. Her lungs constricted in a futile attempt to draw breath, but nothing came. Her eyes popped open, and there was Owen, or the empty shell of Owen, staring down at her - hands around her neck - choking. Choking. She was choking. He was killing her. She flailed at him, but her small body was pinned beneath his much larger one and she could barely reach far enough to land a blow. Blackness crept in from the edges of her vision as she lashed out again and again, trying desperately to get free..._

"Cristina! Cristina! Wake up!"

_Now he was shaking her, and she felt like a rag doll at the mercy of a sadistic child - head lolling backward, eyes rolling as the vertigo set in. She lashed out in terror, aiming for his face again and again. She had to get free or she knew she was dead this time..._

"Cristina! Wake up, dammit! Ow! Fuck..."

_His hands suddenly released her. She was free. She took in deep gulps of air, sobbing with relief as she did so, clutching at her throat. She felt the sheets beneath her and the weight of the man next to her on the bed. She could see everything, but her eyes were tightly shut. How was that possible? _

She opened her eyes.

Blood. There was blood on the sheets. _Had he killed her already?_

Owen was sitting up next to her, hunched over, his hands cupped over his face. Drops of blood trickled out between his fingers and landed soundlessly on the sheet below. She instinctively pulled away from him and cowered against the headboard, realizing at that moment that they were in a strange bed.

_A hotel. This was a hotel._

The prior evening flooded back into her awareness - the paint smell, the hotel room, the pizza, the whirlpool, the hot sex... She had fallen asleep in his arms, trusting him, and he had attacked her again. She leapt out of bed, ran into the bathroom, and locked the door - leaving Owen to his own devices. _Deja fucking vu_, she thought. _Only this time it really did happen twice._

She closed the lid of the toilet and sat down on the seat, breathing heavily. The evidence of their tryst - her underwear, the wet towels - was heaped on the bathroom floor. How could this have happened again? _As if she didn't know._ She had let down her guard, that's how. She had been right to be wary of him, and this was the proof; more evidence that Cristina Yang couldn't be trusted to pick the right man.

His knock on the bathroom door sounded tentative, and his voice strangely muffled. "Cristina! Let me in. Please."

_No fucking way_. Her friends had been right all along. This was and always had been a disaster waiting to happen. She had been wrong to let him back in once. She'd be damned if she'd do it again.

"Cristina. Are you okay? Please, let me in."

She looked up, catching sight of herself in the mirror. She looked like hell. Owen had washed her hair for her, and she'd gone to bed with it wet. Now it stuck out in all directions. Her eyes looked haunted, terrified. She looked away, but not before the inconsistency struck her. She got up and approached the mirror.

No marks.

There were no marks on her neck.

"Cristina. Say something... please. Just let me know you're okay. You're scaring the shit out of me."

_Fuck._ There were no marks on her neck, no scratches, no signs of violence at all. She'd had another nightmare, and Owen was on the other side of the door, bleeding. What had she done? She resisted the urge to the door and fling it open, choosing instead to take a few deep breaths and bring her racing heart under control. Owen's banging grew louder, more insistent.

"Cristina, open the damn door already. You had a nightmare. I didn't hurt you. I swear it."

She took one last look at herself in the mirror, let her breath out in a long sigh, and opened the door. Owen stood there, one hand over his nose, a thin trail of blood running through his fingers and down his forearm. He would have been totally justified if he'd simply glared at her and headed for the sink; but instead, he took one look at her stricken features and pulled her close with his free right arm. She hesitated for a brief moment, her mortification growing with each passing second, and then wrapped both arms around his waist and squeezed tight. If anyone could understand how she was feeling right now, it was Owen Hunt. They stood there in silence for several minutes, two words repeating themselves silently in Cristina's head.

_I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry._

--------------

"You want to tell me how long this has been going on?" Owen inquired. He had washed himself off as best he could in the sink and was sitting on the edge of the whirlpool tub, a bloody towel held to his nose.

"You should let me take a look at that," Cristina observed. "It might be broken."

"Thanks a lot, Doctor Yang. I'll take it under advisement," Owen replied sarcastically, "...and you just changed the subject."

"Yeah. Uh... Can we just take care of you right now? I don't want to talk about it."

"No, we can't. And yes, I think it's broken, but I'm not leaving here until you answer me. You were having a nightmare about me choking you, weren't you?"

"Yes."

"And this wasn't the first time, was it?"

"No."

Owen closed his eyes for a moment, the pain evident on his face. "Why haven't you told me about this?"

"Because."

"Ok," Owen shook his head, wincing from the motion. "I'm done playing 20 questions. I have better things to do than pry this out of you word by word at 3 o'clock in the morning. Can you do me a favor and get some ice from the machine down the hall? And then I think we need to have a little talk."

Relieved to have even a momentary reprieve, Cristina did as he asked. When she returned with the ice, neatly wrapped in the plastic liner from the ice bucket, Owen took it from her and went to lie down on the couch in the bedroom. It was tiny in comparison with his large frame, and his long legs extended over the armrest, but she could understand why he didn't want to return to the bed just now. It felt too much like the scene of a crime. With the ice pack resting on the bridge of his nose, Cristina couldn't see his eyes or gauge his expression. This left her feeling strangely unhinged, and she paced back and forth next to the couch, not quite knowing what to do with herself. An awkward silence ensued. Finally, Owen reached out and snagged her arm as she passed by, stopping her in her tracks.

"I'm ready any time."

She could hear the fatigue in his voice, and the resignation. She really shouldn't make this any harder for him, but opening up about the nightmares felt wrong somehow. She hadn't been able to do it with Dr. Patel; now that it was Owen asking, she felt even more resistance. He would feel responsible. He would blame himself. This would set them back several steps, if not tear them apart completely.

"Shouldn't we put a call in to Mark? He's gonna need some time to get over there..."

"Jesus, Cristina. Would you cut the crap already? Mark can wait. Nasty as this is, it isn't an emergency."

"Ok, ah... I don't know how to talk about this with you, Owen."

"Well, are you talking about it with _someone_? Have you told your shrink about this?"

"Kind of..." she demurred.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I...um... I told him I was having nightmares... and I wanted them to stop... but I didn't tell him you were in them. He doesn't know about the choking."

She heard the hiss of his indrawn breath and felt a sharp pang of guilt. Was this how Owen had felt when he'd been faced with the necessity of going to therapy? Because if it was, she could really understand why it had taken him so long to finally go, and why the progress had been so agonizingly slow. Now she was the one in the position of not having taken her situation seriously enough, and of inadvertently hurting the person she loved when she was asleep. The gravity of it made her little games with Patel suddenly seem petty and stupid. _Why didn't I tell him the truth? Why the red herring about my father? How could I be so thoughtless?_

"Why not?" Owen's question pulled her out of her reverie.

"Why not what?"

Owen's sounded tired and he spoke very slowly and deliberately, his voice coming out with a slight nasal twang from the swelling. "Why haven't you told him about the choking? I thought that was why you were going."

"I don't know. When I got in there, I just couldn't talk about it. The whole therapy thing kind of freaks me out, Owen. I don't think it's going to work for me."

"I see." The disappointment in his voice struck her like a blow to the gut, and she could feel her whole world unraveling. He said nothing for several agonizing moments. She began to wonder if he'd dozed off when he finally said, "Put in a call to Mark, would you? Tell him we'll be there in 20 minutes."

----------------

"I bet there's a story here," Mark raised a brow in inquiry as he gently palpated the bridge of Owen's nose.

"Not one you're likely to hear, Sloan, so you can stop fishing," Owen shot back irritably.

"Shucks. You're no fun," Mark managed to sound offended. "Still, you can't blame a guy for trying, right?" He pressed a little bit harder, and Owen sucked in a breath. "Sorry, buddy. I'm sure it's broken, but we need an x-ray to see just how bad it is. Yang can take you down. No need to wake up the on-call folks; that'll just get people talking. Come find me in my office when you're done."

Owen got up and Cristina took his arm, guiding him gently out the door. She was reminded of their first meeting, when he was so busy taking care of other people that she'd had to forcibly prod him into a room to get his thigh stapled. This time he was a more willing patient, but the stiffness in his body told her loud and clear that they were not finished with their earlier conversation.

When they returned, Mark was sitting at his desk, a steaming cup of coffee at his right hand. He took a quick look at the x-ray, then motioned them out the door.

"Could've been a lot worse, Hunt. This is an easy fix. Let's go downstairs."

--------------

"Yang, get me something to numb him with."

Cristina looked from Mark to Owen and cocked a brow. In spite of the awful events of the last few hours, Owen had to chuckle to himself. He knew exactly what she was thinking.

"Yeah, uh... there's no need for that," Owen said.

Mark looked sideways at him. "You sure? This is going to hurt like a mother when I reset it."

Owen weighed the momentary discomfort of the reset against the feeling of congestion and numbness that would plague him for hours afterward if he got the anesthetic, and opted for the quick and dirty route. "Yeah, I'm sure."

Mark nodded in admiration. "Ah. I get it. This is how you impress the women. Not bad, Hunt. Not bad at all. Now lay your bad ass down on the table, Major. We'll see if I can't make you cry like a little girl."

Owen complied, laying his head down gingerly to avoid jarring it. He already had a massive headache. "I'm starting to understand why Derek keeps trying to rearrange your face, Sloan."

"Uh huh. Not smart, Hunt." Mark maneuvered Owen's head into position, "Not... smart... at... all, when I'm the one who's about to rearrange _your_ face... Yang, get over here and hold his head still, will you?"

Owen glanced over at Cristina, who appeared to be enjoying herself for the first time since her rude awakening a couple of hours ago. She put a hand on each side of his head, then exerted steady pressure until he felt like he was in a vise grip. Her tiny frame was deceptive; she had a lot of strength in those hands. _And,_ he thought with no small speck of admiration, _this is the second time tonight she's proving it_. At least he would never have to worry about her being able to take care of herself in a fight. Mark placed his hands in position, and Owen felt his heart speed up in anticipation of more pain coming his way.

"Ready? Now take a deep breath, and let it out when I say three. Big breath. Okay. One...two... three!"

Owen felt the nauseating grind of bone on bone, then a blinding flash of pain that seared through his skull like a lightning bolt, and finally an anticlimactic little click as things slid back into their proper places. He struggled with the urge to pass out as the pain radiated outward in waves that threatened to take him under. There was a momentary blackness; then the room was spinning, and Cristina was massaging his temples. He breathed hard, fighting a losing battle with the overwhelming nausea that roiled in his gut and surged up his throat. He dimly heard Sloan yell, "Yang! Grab a basin!" before he rolled over on his side and threw up over the edge of the table. Fortunately, Cristina had been quick; the mess was minimal, even if the humiliation was acute. Owen slumped back on the table with a groan.

"Yeah, wow," Mark commented dryly, "I can see how that macho thing really works for you. Very sexy indeed."

"Shut...the...fuck...up...you...asshole," Owen groaned again, a slight edge of laughter coloring his tone in spite of the fact that he felt like his head was going to explode.

"Yang, go find this man an ice pack." Mark reached for his coffee and took a sip. "Are you averse to Vicodin too, or is it just the flashy displays of machismo you go for?"

"No, I'll take something now. I'm not an idiot."

"Gee. Could've fooled me for a minute there." Mark located a prescription pad and scribbled something down, then handed Owen the slip. "So, you supposed to be on today, Hunt?"

"Thankfully, no."

"Good." Cristina had already returned, ice pack in hand. "Get him out of here, Yang, and make him take something and lie down for a few hours." He eyed the two of them suspiciously. "Hey, I don't know what went down here, and I get that you're not gonna tell me, but you two better figure out your story pretty quick. As bad as that looks now, it's gonna look a hell of a lot worse by tomorrow. People will definitely notice."

"Right," Owen said, sitting up on the edge of the table and taking the ice pack Cristina handed him. "Hey, thanks for coming in like this in the middle of the night. I appreciate it."

"Say no more, Dr. Hunt," Mark winked conspiratorially, "I break... you fix. You break... I fix. I believe this makes us even."

Owen nodded back with a half smile and fielded Cristina's inquisitive look with what he hoped was a bland expression. His innate discretion had prevented him from telling her about Sloan's penile fracture at the time, but he would be amazed if she hadn't heard about it through the grapevine. There had to be at least one person in that OR with a big mouth, after all.

He didn't even want to think about what would happen when people got a load of his face.

---------------

By the time they reached the parking lot it was 5:30am, and Cristina was on at 6:00. Owen had taken the day off in order to help his mom with some minor repairs on her house, but he would have to postpone; he'd never hear the end of it if he showed up at her place looking like this. Besides, he really did need to lie down. His head was killing him.

"I'm going back to the hotel," he told Cristina. "They're hammering and banging at my building, and I'll never get any sleep. And if the maid goes in that room unprepared, they're likely to call the cops. It looks like somebody got murdered in there."

Cristina stared at the ground and nodded, her feet shuffling nervously on some loose gravel. She'd been remarkably quiet throughout this whole ordeal, and Owen wondered what was going on in that hard head of hers.

"You okay to drive yourself back?" she asked matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, I think so. It's not far." He tried to catch her eye, but she was still studiously looking away. Was it the sight of him in this condition that unnerved her, or something else? "Cristina..."

"Look, Owen," she blurted out, the words flowing in an agonized torrent, "I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. I can't even look at what I did to you. I know you're mad at me…and disappointed... and I know I let you down with the therapy, but..."

"Cristina, stop." His hand on her arm finally got her to look up at him, and the bleakness in her eyes nearly knocked him flat. "I get it. Believe me, I get it all too well. I think I know exactly how you're feeling right now. And I can't be mad at you when I know this would never be happening if I hadn't..."

"No, now you stop!" Cristina glared at him, her index finger coming dangerously close to his nose. "This is why I didn't tell you in the first place. I knew you'd just blame yourself. It's not your fault, okay? Shit happens. It happened to us. I'm dealing with it..."

"But that's just it..." Owen interrupted, "You're not. You said you were, but you're not." Cristina opened her mouth to object, but Owen put up a hand to stop her, "Hear me out, Cristina. You said you're sorry. I believe you, but when it comes to stuff like this, sorry doesn't cut it. I know. I've _been_ sorry." He looked away for an instant and took a deep breath before continuing. "You can waste a lot of time being sorry, and I think we've wasted enough time already, don't you?" He looked her in the eye, willing her to understand what he was saying. Finally, she nodded. "Just do what you said you were doing," he continued, "only really _do_ it now, okay? I think you were just going through the motions before to make me happy..."

Cristina snorted at that. "Well, partly... but mostly, it was to prove Wyatt wrong."

Owen gave her a puzzled look, "Whatever. What I'm trying to say is that none of this works unless you really commit to it. None of it. Not the therapy, not us... none of it."

"Yeah," she sighed, "I know. Just cut me some slack, ok? I'm trying. And I gotta go home and wash up. I'm on in 20 minutes."

He reached over and pulled her in for a hug. "Ok. Call me later."

-------------

Cristina was on clinic duty today, and for once she was thankful for the succession of simple and relatively mindless tasks this service entailed. Her brain was too preoccupied trying to process the events of the last few hours to focus on much else. When she saw that Lexie was the intern on duty, Cristina realized she might as well seize the opportunity to satisfy her curiosity.

"Hey, Lexipedia, come over here."

"What, Dr. Yang? You want me to start an IV? Or draw some blood?"

"No. Just a simple answer. Did Mark Sloan _break_ anything recently?"

As the mention of Mark, Lexie's face crumpled and tears sprang into her eyes. Cristina watched in fascination as the transformation took hold, wondering what she could possibly have said to cause this extreme a reaction.

"What? Geez, what is it?" she asked.

"Um, nothing..." Lexie swiped at her eyes with her sleeve. "If you're referring to him breaking up with me, that's really none of your business. And he hasn't. I mean we haven't. At least not in so many words." She sniffled and looked down at her feet.

"That's not what I... Wait a minute. You guys broke up?"

"I don't KNOW!" Lexie wailed, then covered her mouth with her hand when she realized her exclamation had come out quite a bit louder than she intended. Several patients had turned to stare at them. She took her voice down to a whisper. "I just saw him... you know... flirting... with that new cardio doc... Spaghetti or something..."

"Really?" Cristina drawled, "You mean Moretti?"

"Yeah, her. The one in the spiky red heels. She's so his type. And he hasn't said a word to me practically since she got here... I mean except for "hi" and "bye," but no real, you know, conversations... I hate her. Well, I don't HATE hate her, because I don't really know her, but I hate her."

"You don't say..." Cristina tapped her fingers contemplatively on the counter, her mind wandering down a productive new pathway. She was fond of Lexie - or as fond as she was capable of feeling about any of the interns - but she was fonder of Owen and of her own peace of mind. In a drag race between Sloan and Lexie's relationship versus the vexing problem of Moretti's obsession with Owen, Lexie was little more than roadkill. Cristina was already thinking up ways to assist Sloan in the deflection of Moretti's affections.

"Is that all you wanted?" Lexie prodded, clearly anxious to be put to work.

"What? Oh, no. I was asking about something medical. Did Sloan break anything recently that Owen might have fixed for him?" Lexie's eyes widened at the question, then flooded once again with tears. She turned abruptly and walked away.

"What the hell did I say?" Cristina muttered.

----------------

Cristina walked the 4 blocks to Dr. Patel's office as quickly as she could. It had taken all her powers of persuasion to convince the good doctor to give up his lunch hour for her, and she didn't mean to start off on the wrong foot by being late. When she arrived his office door was open, and he was sitting at his desk munching on a bagel. "Please come in, Cristina," he said, then got up and joined her in the seating area. "I'm anxious to hear what brings you back so soon after your hasty exit last time. To be honest, I never expected to hear from you again."

"Yeah, well... something happened."

"Another nightmare?"

"Yes, and... I hurt someone."

He tapped his pen on his pad. "Hurt them how?"

"Physically. I broke Owen's nose. Not on purpose. He was trying to wake me up, and I... I hit him."

"I see. Perhaps now you'll be willing to tell me about the nightmares?"

Cristina clenched her fists and tried to reign in her frustration. "What kind of a shrink are you, anyway? Can't you just make them go away? Why do we have to rehash everything? I don't _want_ to talk about it."

Dr. Patel sighed and put his pad and pen down on the table. "Cristina, you are a surgeon, correct?"

"Yes."

He scratched his balding head, as if he was trying to come up with the right words to get his point across. "Do you promise not to run out the door when I ask you a direct question this time?"

"I didn't..."

"Yes, you did. I asked you to tell me about your nightmare, and you suddenly remembered some urgent business you had to attend to. I get paid either way, Cristina, but why waste both of our time on this if you won't let me do what I do best?"

Cristina just looked at him.

"Think of it this way," he sighed. "When you go to a Chinese restaurant, what do you order?"

"I don't know... usually Kung Pao chicken or shrimp, I guess... Why is this relevant?"

"And do you like pizza, Cristina?"

"Of course. Who doesn't like pizza? But why are you..."

"Then why don't you order pizza at the Chinese restaurant, if you like it so much?"

Cristina was beginning to wonder if Dr. Patel was a little on the crazy side. "Maybe because they don't _serve_ pizza there?"

"Exactly. And I don't _do_ surgery, Dr. Yang, but you insist on asking for it every time you come. It's like going to a Chinese restaurant and ordering pizza. I can't just cut your problem out of you, like a surgeon. We need to work together, and you need to be honest with me, or this will be a total waste of time." He paused, and verbally put his foot down. "I have no trouble filling my schedule, Cristina. If this is how you want to proceed, it will have to be with someone else."

_He's right._ She knew he was right. He was only telling her the same thing Owen had said this morning. Perhaps this step into the unknown was what she needed so she could finally move forward with Owen. She had tried ignoring the problem, convincing herself that it would go away with time; breaking Owen's nose had significantly shortened the fuse on that option. As Owen had said, now she had to _do_ something.

"Okay. I'll try. That's all I can promise, because I don't know if I can do this. But I'll try."

"Fair enough," said Dr. Patel. "Now the first thing I need from you is that you be honest with me. Can you do that?"

"I suppose. Yes. I can do that."

"Good. Let's start with some background, shall we?"

-----------------

Once she set her mind to it, it took her about 30 minutes to give Dr. Patel a rundown of her relationship with Owen, including the choking incident and their subsequent breakup and reunion. She was a thorough and accurate historian, and her innate summarizing skills left her time for a detailed account of the nightmares she was having. Now that she was finished, Patel was leaning back in his chair studying her, and she was beginning to feel like a particularly interesting lab specimen.

"So, what now?"

"Well, first of all, you pat yourself on the back, Cristina. I know that wasn't easy for you, but we're finally making progress. One thing puzzles me, though. When I asked you last time who was in your nightmare, do you remember what you said?"

"Yeah... my father."

"So why don't you tell me about that part?"

"Um... I was lying. I just didn't want to tell you about Owen."

"Ah. Well then, are you telling me the truth now?"

"Of course. I said I would, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did. And I believe that nothing we say comes out by accident, but we can look at that another time. In the meantime, I understand that these nightmares are your priority, and that you want to be able to sleep in the same bed with Owen without having them anymore. But I can't cure normal, and you having fear about him possibly hurting you again sounds like a rational fear to me. Does it seem rational to you?"

Cristina chewed on her lower lip as she thought about it. "I don't think so. Not anymore. He hasn't had a nightmare in months, and he's on medication that's supposed to prevent the kind of night terrors that caused the choking. His therapy is going really well. I think this is me. I just have to get over this."

Patel smiled. "And is that what your friend Owen said about his problem? That he'd just have to get over it?"

"Sort of, yeah. He didn't go for help until he'd choked me and we'd broken up..."

Patel leaned forward in his chair. "Cristina, PTSD isn't just for army vets. Regular people get it too when they have a traumatic experience. Crime victims get it. Battered women get it. People who've been in bad accidents get it...." He paused to let his words sink in. "You've got it."

"What? Me. No. I just..."

"You don't 'just' anything, Cristina. Don't minimize it. You woke up in the middle of the night with the man you love choking the life out of you. That's enough to traumatize anybody. And now you're back in a relationship with him. If this were a different kind of case, I'd refer you to a battered women's support group, but I can see that's not what's going on here. It was an isolated incident, but it _happened_. The fear of it happening again is normal. The nightmares, though, are more along the lines of PTSD. That event triggered something in you that you have trouble letting go of now. That's what we need to look at if you want to get past this."

"I see." This sounded like a lengthy proposition. "How long do you think it'll take?"

"I can't say," he replied, "but what I can tell you for sure is that it all depends on you. The more you open up about what's going on inside, the more I can help you, and the faster you'll progress... You took the walls down today, Cristina, and they have to stay down. When you come in here, you need to be open and ready to work. Can you commit to that?"

She sat for a minute, the question hanging in the air. _Could_ she commit to it? She had dreaded spilling her guts with a visceral aversion that bordered on phobia, but once she'd actually begun talking, it hadn't been as bad as she'd expected. Now this balding man with the kind face was asking for more of the same on a regular basis. As she contemplated the prospect of many hours spent in this armchair, she saw Owen's eyes pleading with her to _do_ something, and she knew she had to follow through no matter how she felt about it. If she couldn't quite do it for herself, at least she could do it for Owen.

"Yes," she finally replied. "Yes, I can."

-----------------------

Owen woke up around 2pm to find a text message from Cristina on his cell: _Saw shrink today. It went well. I'll bring food later._ "Good girl," he mumbled, and fell back asleep.

--------------

Callie breezed into the clinic in the early afternoon, looking like someone who hadn't gotten much sleep but didn't mind in the slightest. "Hey, Yang, thanks for clearing the decks for us. We had an awesome night. Let me know when I can return the favor, okay?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever..."

"You okay?"

"Oh, _I'm_ fine," Cristina began tentatively. _What was she doing?_ She didn't want to talk about this with anyone, did she? Then why was she practically inviting questions from Callie?

"Uh huh," Callie eyed her suspiciously, "And who's _not_ fine?"

"Um, c'mere," she motioned Callie out into the hallway, "... but you have to promise to keep this to yourself."

Callie made a zipper motion across her lips, and leaned in closer so she could hear Cristina. "What happened?"

"I broke his nose, Callie."

"Whose? Owen's? That bastard! Did he try to hurt you again?"

"No! I was having a nightmare, and he tried to wake me up. I punched him..."

"Oh, God!" Callie covered her mouth with one hand, her eyes popping out in surprise. "Sorry I said that about Owen. I just assumed..."

Just then, Meredith rounded the corner. "What did you assume?" she asked.

"Cristina broke Owen's nose."

"You assumed Cristina broke Owen's nose?"

"Shhh! Would you two keep it down?" Cristina pleaded, already regretting her decision to mention anything at all.

"No," Callie continued, undaunted, "Cristina really _did_ break Owen's nose."

"Seriously?" Meredith grabbed her by the arm. "Are you okay? Did he try to hurt you again?"

"NO! I hit HIM. He was just trying to wake me up."

"Sometimes I feel like punching Derek in the nose when he tries to wake me up..." Meredith observed. "Why was he trying to wake you up?"

"She was having a nightmare," Callie filled in helpfully, "...of the screaming and shouting variety."

"Another one? Didn't you just have one of those the other night?"

"Yeah. What, is there a limited supply or something? Am I not allowed to have another one?"

"No, but... I thought you were seeing a shrink about those," Meredith continued lamely.

"I am. But he says it takes time."

"It does," Meredith confirmed. "So... is Owen okay?"

"I think so. He went back to the hotel to get some rest, and I'm supposed to call him later...I think I'll just go over there, though."

"The hotel? Why is he at a hotel?"

"They're renovating his building, okay? It's not important. But I need your help. He comes back to work tomorrow, and we need a good cover story. He's going to look like hell."

"Maybe he can say he slipped in the shower?" Meredith offered. "That's what everyone says when they come into the Pit with random stuff. It's like a generic excuse..."

"...that no one believes," snickered Callie. "Especially when it's some guy with a vibrator stuck up his ass."

"Gee, thanks." Cristina nodded, "That's really helpful, guys."

"Why not tell the truth?' Callie offered, "Just say you had a bad dream and punched him in the nose? It doesn't really matter what you say, because no one will believe it anyway. They'll assume there's a much juicier story that you're not telling."

"I don't think he'll go for that," Cristina shook her head, "It sounds too lame. What kind of guy gets punched in the nose in his sleep?"

"But it might be fun to see how people react when they hear it," Callie mused.

"Yeah, especially Moretti," Meredith added. "That might put her on notice not to mess with you..."

"Why would Dr. Moretti want to mess with Cristina?" asked Callie.

Meredith and Cristina exchanged a glance, but Cristina's warning grimace did nothing to deter Meredith from spilling the beans. "Because she has the hots for Owen. She's been staring at him and practically drooling all over her charts since she got here."

"Oh my god," Callie exclaimed, "How did I miss this? So, what are you gonna do about it?"

"Actually," Cristina looked around and lowered her voice, "I may have found a solution. Lexie just told me that Sloan's been flirting with her."

"Oh, crap, I forgot about that." Meredith groaned.

"Forgot about what?" Cristina asked.

"Lexie told me yesterday about the flirting thing. I meant to tell you about it, but I forgot," she clarified.

"So what?" Cristina challenged, "That's good news, right? If the famous Man-Whore of Seattle Grace can distract her away from Owen, how is that a bad thing?"

"Because Derek will murder him, that's why. He warned Mark not to get involved with her, and then he warned him not to hurt her. If he dumps her for Moretti... I don't even want to think about what'll happen."

They were all silent for a moment as they contemplated the possibilities. Finally Cristina spoke up. "I don't care. Let Sloan fend for himself. My first priority is getting that barracuda away from Owen. If I have to play dirty, I will."

Callie rubbed her hands together. "Can I help? I never understood his thing with Lexie anyway. I know that man better than anyone, and he needs a woman who can bust his balls a little. Moretti seems more his type."

"Well," Meredith chimed in, "Lexie didn't exactly bust his balls, but she sure busted something else..."

"What?" Cristina's ears perked up, the solution to a mystery finally within reach, "What did she bust?"

"You mean you don't know?" Callie asked.

"Know what?"

"She fractured his penis in the on-call room. Owen had to repair it for him." Callie was clearly enjoying spilling this particular vintage tidbit.

"Seriously? You're kidding me, right? How the hell do you fracture someone's penis?"

"Um, I think it happens during sex, if he aims wrong..."

"Okay, TMI, TMI." Cristina shook her head to clear it and waved Callie away. "How do you know about this?"

"Lexie called me in first. I was the one who went to get Owen."

"And Owen fixed Mark's ding-dong?" Cristina's eyes were alight with mischief. "No wonder he was so good about coming in last night... Holy shit. How did I miss this?"

"Now you know how I feel about the Moretti thing..." Callie commiserated.

"It comes from dating the only person at Seattle Grace who doesn't gossip," Meredith offered. "Derek tells me _everything_."

Just then Lexie stuck her head out into the hall. "Um, Dr. Yang, we really need you in here..."

"I'll be right there," she called back. "Look," she whispered to Callie and Meredith, "...keep the whole broken nose thing to yourselves until I figure out with Owen what we want to tell people, ok?"

They nodded. Cristina narrowed her eyes at them. "I mean it. I will excommunicate both of you without another word if this leaks out. And that includes telling Derek..."

"Dr. Yang..." Lexie prodded.

Cristina gave them a parting glare, then turned on her heel and headed back to the clinic.

---------------

Cristina slipped her key card into the lock and gently opened the hotel room door. It was dark, and she could barely discern Owen's shape on the bed. She moved quietly, softly setting down the cartons of Chinese take-out on the small table before removing her jacket and throwing it on a chair.

"I'm not asleep," Owen mumbled from the bed.

"Oh, okay," she replied, and kicked off her shoes before sitting down on the bed beside him and flipping on the bedside light. Owen winced from the sudden brightness and squeezed his eyes shut.

"How's the nose?"

"Okay."

She took a closer look. His handsome face had lost its fine lines in favor of a generalized puffiness. The redness and swelling was worst on his nose, but the area around his eyes and above his upper lip was beginning to discolor significantly. Poor Owen. He was likely to end up with two black eyes before this was over.

"Have you been in bed all day?"

"More or less," he said, his voice sounding fuzzy and nasal. "I took some Vicodin. Knocked me out."

"You need anything? Want some ice? "

"Later." He reached for her, eyes still closed, and she took his hand in both of hers , "Tell me about your day," he prodded.

Cristina pulled her legs up to sit cross-legged, and proceeded to tell him about her shift in the clinic and her lunchtime meeting with Dr. Patel. He opened his eyes and nodded approvingly when she related the part about finally telling the shrink about her nightmares.

"He says I have PTSD."

"I think he's right," Owen said.

"Well, whatever... I don't want to talk about it anymore right now... Listen, we need to think up a good cover story, like you slipping in the shower or falling off a ladder or something."

"Why?"

"Because we can't just go and tell everyone what really happened, can we? And it's not like you can hide the damage. You're gonna look pretty scary by tomorrow."

"Why do we have to tell anybody anything?" he asked tiredly. "It's nobody's business."

"Ha! At this hospital, it's _everybody's_ business. Besides, they'll make shit up if we don't."

"They'll make shit up if we do, too," he countered.

"That's true, but at least we have more control over the shit they make up if we come up with a good story."

Owen let out a long breath. "Why don't we just say it was an accident, and leave it at that? If we refuse to talk about it, they'll give up eventually."

"Because they'll assume we're hiding something."

"We _are_ hiding something."

"But we don't want them to know that, do we?"

Owen was silent for a moment. "You're giving me another headache, Cristina. I just got rid of the last one."

Cristina closed her mouth on the comment she was about to make. _What was she doing?_ Her usually dynamic and vital man was hurting badly because of something she'd done, and here she was just making it worse. She fished around for another topic.

"Hey," she asked brightly, "How come you never told me you fixed Mark Sloan's penis?"

There was a long pause. "Um, do I smell Chinese food? I think I'm hungry."

"Now look who's changing the subject."

"Dr. Yang, have you ever heard the term _Doctor/Patient Confidentiality?_"

"Not at Seattle Grace, no."

Owen chuckled. She had him there. "Well, then, let's just say it never occurred to me to discuss another man's penis with my girlfriend."

"But this is the juiciest gossip to hit the grapevine in years!" Cristina complained.

"I rest my case," Owen retorted. "Now, how about some of that food?"

"Okay," Cristina replied. "You want it hot or cold?"

Owen looked puzzled. "Why would I want my food cold?"

"Because," Cristina tiptoed her fingers up Owen's arm, "…I had a little appetizer in mind… and it might take a while."

Owen smiled back to the best of his ability, wincing from the pain of moving any of his facial muscles. His whole body began to hum with anticipation; he was totally up for some alternative healing. "Really?" he teased. "And what kind of appetizer might that be?"

"Oh, just a kiss or two… or ten…"

His expression grew wary. "Um… I appreciate the thought, but I think we have to be really careful with that. My whole face hurts."

She grinned wickedly and pulled back the blanket. "Who said anything about your face?"

------------------

_**When the universe has something to tell us, it taps us on the shoulder to get our attention. But if we're too preoccupied, or too defensive to hear the message, it has no choice but to get louder... and more insistent. What was once a tap on the shoulder becomes a blow to the head with a sledgehammer. Sometimes it's a matter of hurting ourselves, but more often we have to hurt someone we love before we pay full attention.**_

_**If we're lucky, the damage is reversible. And if we're very very lucky - we'll get the opportunity to make amends.**_


	15. Turn and Turn Again

**Author**: shli

**Author's Note**: We are nearing the end, and this is the last episode before our finale. I'd like to thank all our readers for taking this journey with us. We hope it's been a fun and thrilling ride. I would like to thank my fellow authors (hopecrowe, ohcyfan, BNScrubNurse, and angelamermaid) for being a wonderful support group and for their extensive help on this episode. It has been an honor to write with you all. To be among this talented group has been an absolute privilege.

* * *

_There's this feeling you get when you're a kid, when you're blindfolded with a bat in your hand, and someone spins you around and around. Your senses are jumbled, the world is off-kilter, and you have no idea where you are – all you know is that you just have to hit that cheesy, deceptively sturdy piñata that just doesn't seem to want to break._

It was another chilly day in Seattle as Owen and Cristina walked under the familiar overhang of the Seattle Grace Hospital main entrance. With her arm secured snuggly into the crook of his elbow, Owen could feel a delicate shiver travel its way throughout Cristina's slender frame through the thick material of their coats. Sliding his hand down to join hers, he tucked her nearly frozen fingers into his army green jacket pocket, warming them with hand.

Owen was not exactly looking forward to going back to work. Far too familiar with the hospital staff's affinity for gossip, he knew that the current state of his face would be the hot topic of the day. Cristina had tried to convince him to take a week off – goodness knew, he had plenty of vacation time stocked up – but there were lives to be saved. It was as simple as that.

As the temperature shifted from subzero to climate-controlled, Owen relaxed, his muscles no longer tensed from having to ward off the cold. Unfortunately, his moment of relaxation didn't last long.

"What the hell happened to your nose?"

Owen instinctively winced at the Chief's booming voice, which only made him wince again – but this time in pain rather than apprehension. The dull ache that permeated throughout his entire face had yet to go away, even though he'd wrangled a second day off out of the Chief and had taken some aspirin that morning.

Cristina also winced, ducking slightly behind Owen so that she wouldn't have to face the Chief. There would always be that teacher's pet side of her – afraid of disappointing those she deemed her superiors.

"Dr. Hunt," the Chief said in a more controlled tone, though it was unnecessary by that point. The surrounding hospital staff had already turned their attention towards the commotion, and all eyes remained glued to the scene that was occurring before them. "Can you please tell me what happened to your face?"

Bailey, who had been in the middle of berating the Chief for intentionally lightening her amount of surgeries in a misguided attempt to help out her marital life – help that she did not need or want – was also taken aback by the shocking amount of bruising on Owen's face. His pale skin did not do anything to lessen the severity of the discoloring – in fact, it only served to make things look worse.

Bailey immediately glanced at Cristina, worried that Owen had hurt her again, scanning Cristina for any hint of injury. No turtleneck, no marks – only a seemingly embarrassed Cristina who was avoiding eye contact. Bailey had long learned how to read her residents – she didn't know the how or what, but she knew that Cristina had something to do with Owen's bruised face.

Deciding to put off her tirade of telling the Chief to butt out of her personal life, Bailey focused her attention on shooing away the curious onlookers. "What are you looking at?" Bailey barked, shooting them a dictatorial glare. "There are sick people waiting. Go save them." When the crowd had dispersed enough to her satisfaction, she turned back to the Chief. "Maybe you should take this discussion to your office, _sir_," Bailey suggested, the last word dripping with sarcasm. "But don't think that _our _conversation is over."

The Chief watched Bailey's retreating back with his hands on his hips, unable to produce a suitable comeback to address her act of insubordination.

"Sir," Owen said, snapping the Chief's attention back towards him, "I had a minor accident. That's all. I'll be in the Pit most of the day – and I have a feeling that my trauma patients will be too busy fighting to stay alive to care about what my face looks like."

"Fine," the Chief conceded, recognizing the determined look on Owen's face. He would say no more – his reticence on personal matters was one of the qualities that the Chief admired in him, though at the moment, the Chief resented it. "But at least try to keep it covered." He sighed. "What is it with you department heads constantly getting scuffed up? No wonder we're number twelve. I bet other hospitals don't have an attendings' fight club going on."

With a shake of his head, the Chief walked away, wondering at which point his hospital had turned into a soap opera.

Cristina stood in front of Owen, examining his face, taking in the damage that she had caused. She still felt guilty, especially since she had mistakenly thought that _he _had hurt her. She could only imagine how Owen had felt after the choking incident. No matter how many times Owen reassured her that he was fine, she still couldn't fully forgive herself.

"Cristina, it's fine. Don't worry about it."

"I knew you should have let me use some of my cover up on you this morning."

Owen indignantly cocked an eyebrow. He was a man. And what more, a badass trauma surgeon. In other words, he wasn't Derek or Mark, a little too obsessed with their looks. "I'm _not _going to wear makeup. Plus, the guys would never let me live it down." When Cristina's look of concern still didn't lessen, Owen continued in a reassuring tone, "It's not that bad."

Cristina looked at him skeptically.

"Look," Owen continued, "if I need to talk to a relative or something, you can do it."

"Seriously? I'd rather cut people up than talk to them. Plus, I'm not even on your service today."

"Fine," Owen said, a smile teasing his lips, "then I'll make the interns do it."

Cristina scoffed. "Yeah, only if Karev doesn't hog them all."

***

After changing into her scrubs and donning her lab coat, Cristina headed towards the Plastics department to check up on her latest patient who'd been admitted the day before: Dawn, a 24-year-old Seattle native on break from college in need of a skin graft.

The first thing that Cristina had noticed on the day they'd met was the large, dark blue blanket with a familiar yellow bear and similarly hued lettering that spelled out _Cal_. Seeing where Cristina's attention had been drawn, Dawn had sheepishly shrugged and offered a one-word explanation: "Mom."

Cristina had snorted and replied, "I know what you mean."

From there, Cristina had discovered that Dawn was currently pursuing a PhD in biochemistry at Berkeley, just as Cristina had years ago. And not only that, but Dawn was contemplating applying to med school after she was done.

In the midst of the two of them comparing notes on shared professors, Meredith and Callie had stopped by the room to get the latest scoop on Cristina's plan for taking care of her "little problem."

The moment Meredith and Callie had left, Dawn had demanded that the petite Korean doctor tell her everything. Figuring that she could use the extra brainpower, Cristina confided in her doppelganger about the love pentagon she was currently a part of and her need for a plan to break away from it.

"Hey, Dawn, how are you feeling today?" Cristina asked, picking up the younger woman's charts from the foot of the bed.

"Bored… As usual," she replied. "Anyways, enough about me. Any updates on the Sloan/Moretti/Lexie/Owen/Cristina romance situation?" she asked, sitting up straighter in anticipation.

"No. Still as complicated as ever," Cristina answered, uncapping her pen to jot down a status update on Dawn's charts.

"Come up with anything good yet?"

"Not really. So far, all I've got is A) kick her ass back to Minnesota or B) hope that Sloan can charm Moretti away from Owen. Can't do option A because she's the best cardio teacher I've had in years…unfortunately. And as for option B… well, let's just say, I'm not holding my breath."

"Hmm…" Dawn idly drummed her fingers against her chin in thought, unable to produce an executable plan.

"Exactly," Cristina said as she hung another bag of saline. "The problem is: how do we make Sloan seem more attractive than Owen? Or make Owen less attractive? Neither is possible."

Taking Cristina's word on her boyfriend's looks and sex appeal, Dawn sunk deeper into the pillows and stared at the ceiling for some spark of inspiration to hit her.

"Yeah… I don't know… Have you talked to Dr. Sloan yet?"

"No, not yet."

"Well, what are you waiting for? Do you want to get rid of the barracuda or not?"

Cristina laughed upon hearing Dawn refer to Moretti as a barracuda – it was the same label she used for Moretti, though she'd never said it in front of Dawn.

"What?" Dawn asked, quizzically.

"Nothing," Cristina replied with a shake of her head, causing her ponytail of raven curls to bounce against her neck. "You just remind me of someone I know."

"That's nice. But seriously, you need to get this done pronto. The longer you wait, the worse it'll get."

"Okay, okay… God, you're bossy," Cristina said with an exasperated smile.

"Thank you. I'll take that as a compliment."

***

Owen could feel people's eyes follow him in the surprisingly crowded cafeteria as he sat down with Derek and Mark for his lunch break. In his peripheral vision, Owen observed money changing hands and could only shake his head at the hospital staff's penchant for taking bets on anything and everything.

"You look like crap," Mark said, taking a bite of his sandwich.

"Thank you, we've covered this." Owen took a sip of coffee – the less chewing he had to do, the less facial muscles he had to use.

"What happened?" Derek asked, not really expecting an answer.

Owen was surprised. "You mean you don't already know?"

"No… Why would I?"

"Doesn't Meredith tell you everything?"

"No, that's Cristina. She tells Cristina everything. I'm just her husband."

Owen chuckled. He knew the feeling.

Derek continued, "All she told me was to not be surprised if you showed up looking like Callie when that sleepwalking patient socked her in the nose."

"Except that Hunt got his butt kicked by a girl – probably a tiny Asian one," Mark said, snorting into his sandwich.

Owen glared at Mark but chose not to dignify his insensitive remark with a response.

"What?" Mark asked, his mouth full of food.

Derek groaned, looking away, his attention diverted from the topic at hand at the sight of the partially chewed food in Mark's mouth. "Close your mouth, would you? You're going to make me puke."

Owen finally noticed the sickly hue of Derek's skin and lack of food in front of him. "What's wrong with you?"

"Meredith insisted on making dinner last night, and I'm still suffering from the repercussions of letting her do so. So is she. She keeps on having to run to the bathroom."

"That's why I don't let Cristina cook… Not that she tries."

"At least you have someone," Mark muttered.

"What did you say?" Derek asked.

Mark realized what he'd said and who he'd said it to and paused, trying to figure out a way to cover up his mistake. For all Derek knew, things were hunky dory between him and Lexie – though that was far from the truth. Plus, he didn't want to join the ranks of Owen and have a broken nose. Thankfully, his pager went off.

"Oh, would you look at that? Damn, I'm getting a page from Yang. Gotta go!" Without waiting for a response, Mark grabbed his stuff and fled, leaving a slightly confused – and jealous – Owen wondering why in the world Cristina would need Mark.

***

"You paged me, Dr. Yang?" Mark asked, lifting his eyebrows suggestively.

"Can it, Sloan. This is not a booty call. What? You want to get denied a _second _time?"

Mark's features lost their playful tone. "Is there something wrong with our patient?"

"No, no, nothing like that. She's fine. This is about Moretti. Obviously, you need help, and I'm going to give it to you."

"I appreciate the offer, but I don't need your help."

Cristina looked at him dubiously. "Seriously? Because it sure seems like you do."

"I don't. We went on a date last night."

"You're kidding. Sofia Moretti agreed to go out on a date with you."

"Don't look so surprised, Dr. Yang. Just because you could resist my charms doesn't mean other women can."

"She really went out on a date with you?" Cristina asked, still not believing him.

"Yes. And just to get things straight, _she_ asked me. Just walked up to me after work yesterday and invited me out for drinks."

"How'd it go?"

"As if you need to ask. Obviously, it went well."

"Hmm…" Cristina pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. What made Moretti pull a 180 and start pursuing Mark all of a sudden? She'd been pretty obvious in her attraction to Owen. And this morning, Moretti had shown no signs of having had a successful date the night before. In fact, she had seemed a bit distracted – but not in the Cloud Nine kind of way. She had seemed lost.

As if Cristina's thoughts had conjured her, Sofia turned down the hallway that Mark and Cristina were in, her gaze directed downward at the charts in her arm.

Cristina stepped away from Mark to intercept her. "Dr. Moretti," Cristina voiced, approaching the other cardio goddess.

"Oh, Dr. Yang, I was just looking for you. I need you to do the post-ops on my patients today. And then, I need you to prep my surgery that is scheduled later on."

Cristina moved forward to take the binders, revealing one Mark Sloan giving his most irresistible grin.

Sofia took a small step back, as if to put some distance between them. The corners of Mark's lips turned down briefly at the unexpected response. Barely making eye contact with the Head of Plastics, Sofia nodded, offering a cool and formal "Dr. Sloan" before leaving abruptly.

Cristina stifled a snort. Apparently, Mark went on a different date than Sofia did. She turned to see the look on Mark's face – mouth agape with utter shock. "Still don't need help?"

Growling with frustration, Mark mustered out a "fine" through his clenched teeth. When he could finally find his voice again, Mark asked, "So, what's the plan?"

Suddenly, an idea popped into her head. But first, she would need a little bit of help.

"Follow me," Cristina said mysteriously.

***

Callie gripped the railing, catching herself before she stumbled down the stairs. It would certainly be rather poetic for the ortho resident to end up with a broken bone or a dislocated shoulder, but Callie had never been one to do something for the sake of poetry. A broken nose had been bad enough – and now, that bit of fun had spread to Owen.

On some vindictive level, Callie was satisfied. She wasn't happy that Cristina had nightmares, but Callie felt that justice had somehow been served. Cristina hadn't let her or Meredith give Owen what they had thought he deserved – unintentional or not, he had nearly killed her. And though she begrudgingly respected the trauma surgeon, it didn't mean that she had to trust him.

"Whoa, Calliope, what's the rush?" Arizona asked, placing her hands up in a defensive stance to prevent Callie from running into her.

"Oh, hey. Sorry, Mark paged me."

Arizona had heard about Callie and Mark's formerly romantic relationship – and their numerous bouts in the on-call room. "What for?" she inquired, suspicious of Mark's intentions. It didn't matter that he was supposedly with Lexie Grey. Arizona just didn't appreciate having to share her girlfriend with said girlfriend's ex-lover.

In a hushed tone, Callie quickly gave Arizona the rundown on Mark, his situation with Sofia and Lexie, Sofia and her thing for Owen, and Owen's broken nose.

"Wow." Arizona was awestruck by just how much gossip Callie knew.

"Yeah," Callie breathed out with a sigh.

"How did Owen break his nose exactly?"

Callie debated telling Arizona about Cristina's nightmares and the choking incident but decided against it. That was Cristina's business, and she would respect her privacy. "Some accident. It doesn't matter. What matters is that Mark went out on a date with Moretti last night."

"Really?" From what Arizona had seen of the new Head of Cardio, she wasn't the type to date the resident (former) man whore. Sofia Moretti seemed like a sophisticated, brilliant, and self-confident woman – a far cry from the young, often timid Lexie Grey.

Callie felt the need to defend her friend, though she very well recognized his faults. "Hey! Mark can be very charming when he wants."

"I guess… No wonder Dr. Moretti seems a bit out of sorts today. I needed a cardio consult for one of my kids, and she didn't respond to me for a good minute."

"Maybe you should talk to her. Ask her what's wrong."

"Why me?"

"Because it'd be weird if I did it. Plus, I'm Team Mark. I can't go behind enemy lines." Seeing that Arizona was still reluctant, Callie placed her hands on her girlfriend's waist, drawing her closer. "Come on, don't you think she could use a friend? She's new, and obviously she has no one to talk to. You'd be doing her a favor."

"Ugh, fine… But _only _because she seems to need some cheering up."

"Great!" Callie hurriedly pecked Arizona on the lips before rushing towards the door. Arizona's hand shot out and grabbed Callie's hand.

"Wait. Did you tell Cristina about what we discussed yet?"

"No, but I will. I promise. I really have to go. Report back to me about Moretti later!"

As she let go of Callie's wrist, Arizona rolled her eyes. The things one did for love.

***

Sofia found herself once again lost in thought when someone touched her lightly on the elbow and startled her out of her reverie.

"Sorry to bother you, Dr. Moretti, but I was wondering if you could briefly check in on my patient to see if her heart can handle the stress of the surgery I will be performing tomorrow."

Mark Sloan was the last person Sofia wanted to see, but she refused to let him know that. _Cool and professional, Sofia_, she thought to herself.

"Of course, Dr. Sloan. After you."

Sofia followed Mark into an exam room, where Cristina was already with the patient. When she saw the pair of attendings enter, she signaled the attractive woman on the bed with a subtle cough.

"Dr. Sloan, you're back. I wish you'd have given me time to make myself look more presentable."

"Why Ms. Draper, you know that you always look completely ravishing to me."

Dawn Draper let out a delighted giggle. Looking at Mark through her lashes, she coyly replied, "Oh, Dr. Sloan. You're such a charmer… And who's this lovely lady? My competition?"

Sofia nearly choked on her own saliva. Clearing her throat, she quickly stepped forward and made her own introduction. No need for Mark to comment on that. "Hello, Ms. Draper, I'm Dr. Moretti, the Head of Cardio. I just need to make sure that the surgery won't be too stressful on you, what with your heart murmur."

"The _Head _of Cardio? My, Dr. Sloan, you must be a very important man to get the Head of Cardio to come see lil' ol' me." She batted her eyelashes at Mark to punctuate her unabashed admiration.

Cristina covered a snicker behind her hand then handed Sofia the patient's EKG readout. Sofia glanced down at the series of peaks and valleys on the paper.

"Everything looks good, Ms. Draper. I'll leave you to finish discussing your upcoming surgery with Dr. Sloan."

Before Mark could come up with a plausible excuse to keep her there longer, Sofia had disappeared out the room.

"Well," Dawn said, losing all pretense of being attracted to Mark, "that didn't work. She couldn't have run out faster had someone screamed, 'Fire.' But you still owe me."

Mark slipped a twenty into Dawn's awaiting hand and glared. "Did you seriously have to act like some simpering idiot?"

"Hey, no dissing the acting. I was trying to make it obvious. It's not my fault that that Moretti woman has absolutely no interest in you." Trying to see what all the fuss was about, Dawn looked Mark up and down, assessing his physique. "Eh," she said. "You're a respectable 7.5."

"I'm a 10!" Mark replied, indignantly. "You know what? I'm more than a 10. I'm a 20."

"Right, and that's why you needed _my_ help." Dawn shifted her gaze towards Cristina. "Thanks for this. I needed a bit of fun. And money never hurts."

Mark watched the exchange. "What? You would have done this for free? Give me back my twenty."

"Nope," Dawn replied, tucking it into the waistband of her underwear for temporary safekeeping. She and Cristina shared a devious grin.

"So, which one of these doctors is your boyfriend again?" Dawn asked. "Must be some _hot_ stuff," she said in a way that implied Mark's lack of hotness.

Cristina laughed. "He's the Head of Trauma. I'm not sure if you've ever seen him before."

"Was it that guy you were talking to right before Dr. Sloan came in with Dr. Moretti? Tall, muscles for days, red hair?"

"Uhh…" Cristina paused to think. Owen had briefly stopped by the room to check in on her, as he always did when things were slow in the Pit. How he had known where she was? She had long since given up on trying to figure that out. "Yeah, that was him."

Dawn let out a low whistle, irritating Mark. "Now, _he _is a 20, aside from the bruised up face… Sorry, dude," she directed at Mark. To Cristina, she gave two thumbs up, causing Cristina to laugh, even though her plan had failed.

Mark glared at his patient then transferred his frustrated look to Cristina. "Now what?"

"Plan B."

***

Amanda treaded quietly into George's room, checking to see if anyone else was inside. At least one of George's friends and colleagues always seemed to be there. Not that she minded – she had come to get to know and like them, but she much rather preferred having a quiet moment with George, just sitting there in relative silence. Few words were exchanged between them, but Amanda was okay with that. For all intents and purposes, they were still mostly strangers – two people who had been brought together by fate.

Taking her customary seat by his side, she tentatively put her hand on the bed near his. She didn't hold it as she had when he'd been unconscious. Things were different now that he was awake.

"Hi."

Amanda smiled. He sounded stronger and stronger every day.

"Hey," she replied softly. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," George croaked, his throat still slightly sore.

Amanda immediately grabbed the nearby cup of water and helped place the straw into his mouth. George lifted himself away from the bed to take a sip then rested back into the pillows.

"Thanks."

She returned the cup to its original position and scooted closer to the head of the bed.

"I heard that you're getting discharged soon. That's great!"

"Yeah…"

"Why aren't you more excited? Have a particular affinity for hospital food?" Amanda asked with a twinkle in her eye.

"No. But right now, I live in a shitty apartment by myself. I can barely get around. I have to go through physical therapy. My best friend is gone. And I have to report to the army. The only reason I've been able to stay here for treatment is because of Hunt, but he can only stall for so long. So, I'm _not _excited because my life is a mess. _I'm _still a mess."

Amanda shrank back from the unexpected outburst. She had never seen George angry, and she didn't know how to respond.

"You can… I mean, only if you want to… you can stay with me," she offered hesitantly.

"Look, Amanda, I really appreciate what you've done for me these past few weeks. But I don't need your pity. We both know that the only reason you've stuck by my side is because you feel guilty – nothing more. I stepped in front of a bus for you, and you feel like you owe me. You don't. You weren't attracted to me before, and you aren't attracted to me now. It's all guilt."

Tears welled up in Amanda's eyes. The idea of George being her Prince Charming was shattering, destroyed by the ring of truth in his words. She had remained with him out of guilt – at first. But now… Now, it had grown beyond that – at least for her. And apparently, the feeling was not mutual.

"Sorry, I have to go."

Amanda quickly bundled up her stuff into her arms and ran out the door, nearly knocking Alex down as she left.

"What was that about?" Alex asked as he entered the room.

"Nothing. I just told her the truth. That she was only here because she felt guilty."

"Dude, that girl totally likes you."

George scoffed. "Right, because my looks have improved since the first time we met."

Alex shook his head and let out a laugh. "Sarcasm doesn't suit you, man. And your misery is blinding you. No one sticks around for that long out of guilt."

George absorbed Alex's words, an action that he had never thought he'd do – he was too used to ignoring the other man. Who knew that his former rival would end up being one of his closest confidantes?

***

"Oh my god, someone just kill me now," Meredith said, wilting against the bathroom stall door.

"I'll do it," Cristina moaned, also feeling queasy. "Why would you give me leftovers that you _knew _would make me sick?" She clutched her stomach as it growled ominously.

"I didn't know for sure. I thought it was just me. Derek isn't feeling _that _bad. And plus, I spent _hours _making the damn thing. I didn't want to make it go to waste."

"Ugh," Cristina replied, too ill to formulate a complete sentence to properly demonstrate her disgust, misery, and anger. She shuffled towards the sink and gurgled a handful of water, trying to get every last bit of the toxic food out of her mouth. Thankfully, she'd only had a small portion of Meredith's seven-layer lasagna and had yet to vomit. Though, seeing Meredith heave wasn't helping matters.

Seeing her friend sagged against the stall door like a long-forgotten ragged doll, Cristina finally took pity on her. Returning to Meredith's side, she pulled the blonde – and slightly green – doctor up to her feet.

"I'm never cooking again," Meredith grumbled as Cristina half-carried, half-walked Meredith to the locker room bench. The moment Cristina let go of her, Meredith laid down, using an immense amount of effort to draw her feet up off the ground until she was curled into the fetal position on the cool wooden surface.

"Good idea," Cristina answered, taking a seat next to her. Getting out of the bathroom helped. She took in a deep breath of fresh air, slowly letting it out in an attempt to settle her stomach.

"Distract me with something. Anything to take my mind off the fact that I want to puke my brains out right now."

"Well, the get-Moretti-with-Manwhore plan backfired." Cristina tapped her tennis shoe against the carpeted floor in annoyance.

Meredith laid her arm across her eyes to block out the brightness of the overhead fluorescent lights. "What'd you do?"

"Got a patient to flirt outrageously with McSteamy in front of her."

Meredith's head popped up, causing her to groan as the nausea hit her. Cristina sighed at Meredith's inability to take care of herself, grabbed a nearby sweater, and shoved it beneath her friend's head. When she'd finally settled into a comfortable position again, Meredith asked, "Why did you even think that would work?"

"Hey! Jealousy can be a good eye-opener."

"Yeah, but the person actually has to like the other person first."

"Well, they did go out on a date."

"Seriously?"

"That was my reaction, too. And yes, I'm serious. Though why she would is totally beyond me."

"Maybe she wanted to make Owen jealous."

"Psh, unlikely. It's as you said. That would only work if Owen had feelings for her, and he clearly doesn't. McBadass is totally and completely, head over heels, in love with me. Anyways, who cares _why_ she did it? How do I get her to stop coming onto my boyfriend?"

"Maybe you need a less subtle approach."

"Hmm… Like what?"

"I don't know. I'm sick. I have no energy for planning… Oh god…" Without warning, Meredith flew past Cristina and back to the bathroom.

As her friend visited the toilet for the umpteenth time, the imaginary wheels in Cristina's brain started turning, and Cristina's lips curled into a mischievous smile. Cristina was going to send Moretti a message – loud and clear.

***

Figuring that now was as good of time as any, Arizona rolled up to the lone figure standing at the nurses' station.

"Hi," Arizona said brightly, her blonde waves bouncing slightly as she came to a stop. "I wanted to thank you for taking a look at my patient."

Sofia gave her a sincere smile. "Just doing my job."

"Yeah, I know. But that doesn't mean that you shouldn't get a thank you anyways, right?" Arizona flashed a dimpled grin. "Look, I know what it's like to be the new kid, and you look like you could use a friend…" When Sofia still looked uncertain, Arizona went on. "I heard about your date with Mark Sloan… and your thing for Owen Hunt."

A faint flush of embarrassment tinted Sofia's cheeks. "You heard about that?"

"Kept secrets are hard to come by in this hospital. Everyone knows everyone else's business."

"I've begun to realize that."

"But you can talk to me. I actually know how to keep my mouth shut. I promise."

Sofia didn't know if it was because of the disarming teddy bear stitched into Arizona's lab coat or the fact that she'd been struggling to hold everything in all day, but she felt the need to spill.

"I went out with Mark Sloan because I wanted to prove to him – and myself – that we wouldn't work. He's not my type. He's too… I don't know how to describe it…"

"Whorish? Pretty?" Arizona provided.

"Yes! But…"

"Things didn't turn out as expected, and you had a great time?"

Sofia groaned and nodded. "I can't believe it. Here I was, trying to show how wrong we were for each other, and we ended up hitting it off. And now, he's gone and made everything all the more confusing. Obviously, Hunt is off-limits, but I can't help being attracted to him. Yet, do I really want to date a man like Sloan? That's just asking for trouble. Ugh… I don't know what to do."

Arizona patted the other woman on the back. "Welcome to Seattle Grace. We may be ranked number twelve in medicine, but we're number one in tangled office romances… And speaking of tangled office romances…" Arizona nodded towards the approaching couple. Sofia whirled around to see Cristina and Owen walking down the hallway together, her line of vision immediately zoning in on Owen's broken nose.

"What happened to him?"

"He had an accident or something." Arizona shrugged. She respected Owen Hunt immensely, especially because of his military background. He was also fiercely tight-lipped about his personal life, and Arizona respected that as well.

"Must have been _some_ accident…" Sofia's voice drifted off as she watched the pair come to a halt twenty feet away – too far to overhear anything but close enough to spy on.

As Sofia's focus remained on the twosome, Arizona's senses peaked as Callie snuck up behind her.

"Wha—" Arizona started, but Callie placed a finger on her lips.

"Just watch," Callie whispered, pointing at the Cristina and Owen.

***

"Cristina, what are you doing?" Owen asked. He had been busy typing up the trauma service schedule when Cristina had barged into his office, demanding that he follow her. Being the ever obedient boyfriend that he was, he heeded her wishes. He felt a bit foolish just standing in the middle of the hallway – and the tiniest bit apprehensive that something was about to go down, something that involved him. This sense of foreboding heightened when he noticed Mark leaning against the wall nearby in addition to the already-present Sofia, Arizona, and Callie.

"I'm going to finally take care of that little problem we've been having ever since a certain cardio surgeon arrived."

"Uhh… Okay…"

"Don't worry, Owen. You're going to enjoy it."

Owen opened his mouth to respond, but the words were caught in his throat as Cristina leaned forward on the balls of her feet and sealed her lips over his. Her tongue mated with his, distracting him as she placed his hands on her ass. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and proceeded to kiss the living daylights out of him – and stake her claim.

It didn't take long for Owen to get over the initial shock before he began to reciprocate with equal fervor, completely disregarding decorum. Cristina often had that effect on him – not that he minded.

When they finally came up for air and separated, Moretti was the last thing on Cristina's mind. A little dazed, Cristina grabbed Owen's arm to keep steady, her knees threatening to buckle.

"Get a room!" someone shouted, and a few people laughed. A nearby nurse was fanning herself frantically with the files she had been holding.

Alex, who had been passing by mid-kiss with his familiar posse of interns, let out a wolf whistle.

"Ow," Owen muttered, referring to his nose rather than the piercing sound Alex had made. He tenderly touched his swollen nose.

"Sorry." Seeing Lexie in the group of interns, she motioned her forward. "Three, get Dr. Hunt an ice pack."

Happy for the excuse to get away from a room with both Mark and his new love interest, Lexie scurried away.

"No need to apologize. It was worth it." Owen smiled. "Maybe you should get jealous more often."

Cristina raised her eyebrow haughtily. "I don't get jealous. I get even."

***  
It didn't take a genius to figure out whose benefit that very public display of passion was for. It was time to concede to the truth – she needed to get over her infatuation for the redheaded trauma surgeon. But her eyes stayed on him for just one more moment, thinking of what could have been. If he had simply been an attractive man at the bar instead of her resident's boyfriend. If it was her whom he now held in his arms, grinning with a look of undeniable desire and love.

She sighed. It would do no good to dwell on that bit of impossibility any longer. And so she found her gaze moving towards another man, the man who had surprised her and proven her wrong. The man who was staring back at her, staring with a look of a desire that could – if she were willing to take the risk – one day turn into something more.

_We get this momentary feeling of dizziness and uncertainty as adults, too. Life spins us around, uprooting carefully laid plans and sending us in directions we don't expect…till one day, we stop and realize that we are nowhere near that damn piñata… But we're okay with it. Because we realize that we didn't really want that cheap, tasteless candy that awaited inside. What we wanted was to remain standing – unlike the poor schmuck who swung so hard that he face planted into the grass. In the end, it's better to be candyless… than on the ground, crying for your mommy._


	16. Take a Chance on Me

**Authors**: BNScrubNurse, angelamermaid, hopecrowe, shli, and ohcyfan**  
Authors' Note**: Thank you for sticking with this series this summer. We had a great time writing for all you. We hope you enjoy the _Season 5.5 _finale. Once again, thank you, thank you, thank you.

* * *

_There's this feeling you get when you're about to jump into a pool on a hot day. It's a mix of longing and apprehension. With the sun beating down on us, there's nothing our body wants more than to feel the cooling sensation of the water against our skin, but our mind tells us that it might just be _too_ cold. And no matter how many times we tell ourselves that we will jump in on the count of three, we bail at the last minute for fear of that moment of shocking contact. We want it and we don't want it..._

"Your nose looks a lot better," Dr. Wyatt observed.

"Yeah, I know," Owen nodded with a half smile. "Now I just get stares from the little kids who come in. The adults seem okay with it."

"And Cristina? How is she recovering from what happened?"

"Okay, I think. She's finally taking the therapy seriously, and Dr. Patel seems to be helping her. But she won't tell me much about it, so I don't have any details."

"Therapy can be a very private matter, Owen, as we both know. She'll tell you when and if she's ready."

"I know. It's just hard to see her struggle and not be able to help."

"I'm sure you're helping her," Wyatt offered, "... just by being there. It's more than she was able to do for you."

"That was different. I almost killed her. It's not like I'm afraid she's going to strangle me in my sleep if I stick around."

"I know that. And I wasn't meaning to imply she did anything wrong by breaking it off when she did. What I mean is that she's got the benefit of having you with her during this time, and you had to do it all alone. It might be a bit easier for her than it was for you."

"Doubtful," Owen shook his head ruefully. "She's even more resistant than I was."

"And how resistant do you think you were?"

"Very... wasn't I?"

"You were," Wyatt nodded and sat forward in her chair, "but no more than anyone in your situation would be. It's a challenge we therapists face on a regular basis... and look where you are now."

"And where am I, exactly?"

Wyatt tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, as if trying to see if he meant that to be a serious question. "Do you really need me to answer that? Look at your progress. You're hardly ever having nightmares anymore, and the night terrors have stopped completely with the medication. You're sleeping at least seven hours straight at night, which is six and a half more than you were before you started seeing me. You're back in a steady relationship. I'd say you've made remarkable headway."

"Does that mean I can stop coming?" Owen ventured.

"What do you think?"

"I... I think I still need to come, but maybe not so often."

"I would tend to agree with your assessment, Dr. Hunt," Dr. Wyatt said as she bestowed him with one of her rare smiles.

"So... how often should I be coming?"

"Well... this has been a three times a week thing for the most part. What do you say we cut back to once a week and see how it goes? You can always come in for an extra session if something happens, and we can cut back further if that seems to be too much."

"Sounds like a plan." Owen was already calculating in his mind what he would do with the extra 2 hours a week. The sessions had moved from lunchtime to after work, and it kept him from leaving with Cristina on those days when they were on the same shift. A nice dinner out – or a cozy one in – came to mind. If that wasn't sufficient motivation for getting well, nothing was.

***

"And how is your Owen doing?" Dr. Patel asked. "Is he recovering well from his injury?"

Cristina suppressed a little grin at his reference to "her Owen." Yes, he was. He was _her_ Owen. But no one had ever referred to him like that, and she kind of liked it.

"He's okay. He's the stoic type – doesn't complain much. But I think he's over the worst of it."

"And you? Are you over the worst of it?"

"What d'you mean? Owen and I are still together. We're fine. I'm fine."

"Cristina, we've talked about what happened a few times now, but I have the feeling there's something deeper you're not telling me. And you keep saying you find it hard to trust Owen when he's asleep. That doesn't sound fine to me."

"But you said yourself it was normal for me to be wary. I can still be fine and be wary, can't I?" she asked.

"Yes, as long as your wariness is grounded in reality," Patel explained, "...but you told me that Owen is on medication and that he hasn't had any more night terrors... plus you're still having nightmares about what happened. So I suspect there's more to it than that."

"Like what?"

"You use the word 'trust' a lot when you're in here, Cristina. I have to think it's significant."

"Why?" she snorted derisively, "It's just a word... like 'dog' and 'cardiomyopathy'."

Dr. Patel smiled with that annoying expression that said he had her all figured out already. "Do those words mean the same thing, Cristina?"

"Of course not."

"And you wouldn't use one when you meant the other?" he prodded.

"I'd be a really shitty doctor if I did," she laughed.

"Then stop acting clueless, Cristina. Words have meaning, and what we say matters."

Cristina looked away. He had her there. The verbal sparring was amusing, but it also kept them from getting to the point... as if she knew what the point was and wanted to defend it to the bitter end. The truth was she had no idea what the point was; yet there was still something about this whole therapy thing that made Cristina not want to give in without a fight – wherever they were headed.

"Okay, Dr. Patel, since you're so smart – what do you think it means, then?"

Patel smiled. "It makes me wonder, Cristina. That's all. Is it really Owen you don't trust?"

"Who else would it be? It's not like someone else broke into my bedroom and tried to strangle me."

"I realize that, but there were two of you in that room."

"And?" Cristina was getting frustrated. _Where was he going here? _She really wasn't up for another Chinese restaurant analogy. She got up and began pacing back and forth, clenching her fists in agitation.

"Do you trust yourself, Cristina?" Patel asked gently.

"Of course." She stopped and turned to him. "Why wouldn't I trust myself? What the hell does that mean, anyway?"

"I'll tell you, but first answer another question for me. Is Owen your first serious relationship?"

"No, but..."

"So maybe we'll get somewhere with this if you tell me something about the one before this one. Was it serious?"

Cristina gave a low chuckle and shook her head, "If you count having the groom walk out on your wedding as _serious_, then yes, I'd say it was serious."

"That sounds very serious," Patel replied. "What happened?"

"He decided we weren't right for each other – said he was trying to change me, blah blah blah. It doesn't matter now. He didn't even have the balls to come back and get his stuff from our apartment. He sent his mommy over."

Patel nodded thoughtfully. "Sounds like you made a big mistake with that one."

"I didn't think so while we were together..." Cristina's eyes softened for a moment, "...but yeah, I guess it was a big mistake."

"And if you didn't think so while you were together, but it turned out to be a big mistake – how did you feel about your judgment concerning men after that happened?"

Cristina opened her mouth to reply, but then stopped herself and sat down. She put her head in her hands and stared at the floor for a moment. "I didn't think much about my judgment. I just gave up. I vowed never to date another Attending."

"And your Owen... Is he an Attending?"

There it was again. _Your_ Owen. She looked up and considered for a moment before answering. She didn't know where he was going with this, but Patel's questions were making her increasingly anxious. Her heart was thumping erratically in her chest, and her palms were getting sweaty – and Cristina Yang did not get sweaty palms, even under pressure. She resisted a strong desire to get up and leave the room.

"Yes, he's an Attending. He's the Head of Trauma."

"Ah," said Patel. "So even though you had a bad experience with an Attending, and you promised yourself you'd never date another one... here you are."

"And?"

"And you threw caution to the winds, went against your better judgment – and he strangled you."

"So? It's not like I picked an axe murderer or something. He was injured."

"That's true, and it may also be besides the point. Tell me something... did the strangling come out of the blue, or were there warning signs? Usually people with PTSD have other symptoms besides sleep disturbances."

Cristina stared at her hands. She didn't want to be reminded of how many of those signs she had purposely overlooked. "I guess," she replied reluctantly. "He showed up for a date really drunk and got in my shower with his clothes on, which is when I heard the details about some of what he'd been through in Iraq. And he would startle awake a lot... Once he threw me across the hall when I woke him up. I hurt my arm..."

"Why didn't you break up with him then?"

"Because I cared about him! And yeah, I saw he had PTSD, but I thought I could handle it... and I thought I could help him."

"So you stayed with a man who you knew was deeply traumatized, even though he had already hurt you once?"

She raised her head and glared at him. _Could he be that dense?_ "He was asleep, dammit! It wasn't his fault. I surprised him."

"What did your friends think of this? Did anyone say anything to you?"

"Yes, but..."

"So the problems were obvious to other people as well?"

Cristina was feeling increasingly defensive. Why couldn't anyone else see things the way she'd seen them? "So what? Why does that matter?"

Patel looked at her but did not let up. "And when he finally strangled you, that's when you broke up?"

"Well, no... He wanted to, but I wouldn't let him. I told him I could handle it..."

"I see. You could handle being strangled?"

"No!" Cristina pounded her fist on her thigh in frustration. "It wasn't like that! I just didn't want to break up with him over something that wasn't even his fault..."

"So how long did it take you to break up with him after that? A few days? A week?"

"No... actually it was the next day. We made love... and then... I realized I was too scared to fall asleep next to him."

"So you made love _after_ he strangled you?"

"Yes! But... I told you it wasn't like that. He was asleep when he hurt me. You know that! We talked about this already! He was so sorry, and we were both so miserable... and then it just... happened." Cristina hesitated. Giving this next piece away felt too intimate, but in the end she decided to reveal it. "It was our first time."

Patel looked at her, his eyes emanating kindly understanding. She wanted to smack him. "And how did you feel, Cristina, realizing that you had to break up with him after your first time making love?"

"Terrible! I felt... terrible. I didn't want to, but it just seemed impossible to stay together under the circumstances... But where are you going with this? I don't get how any of this explains my nightmares."

Patel squinted his eyes a little as he considered. "I honestly believe you know the answer to this yourself, but if you want me to spell it out for you, I will."

"Please do." He gave her too far much credit. She had no idea where he was going with this. Cristina leaned back in the big armchair, arms crossed, bracing herself for whatever was coming.

"You chose once, Cristina, and made a big mistake with a man who not only broke up with you, but humiliated you by leaving you at the altar. You must have loved this man a lot to agree to marry him, yes?"

Cristina met his gaze and nodded reluctantly. "Yes."

"Most people in a situation like that would have a crisis of confidence in themselves. They would question their own judgment in not seeing the warning signs – in choosing a man who was capable of such behavior in the first place. Can you honestly say that never crossed your mind?"

"No," Cristina admitted, "It crossed my mind." The post-mortem on her relationship with Burke had taken place largely in the privacy of her own thoughts, and it had been so brutal she had felt like she was the one being dissected. It had taken every ounce of her will – and one very distracting trauma surgeon – to close that one up and bury it.

"And now we go for Round 2," Patel continued. "This time you choose a man who is your superior at work, which you promised yourself you would not do, and which is in general a bad idea. Then you see the warning signs of his PTSD, but you ignore them. Finally, he nearly kills you, but you still hang on until it is simply impossible to stay together any longer." Patel leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and fixed Cristina with a steady and uncompromising stare. "And all this time, Cristina, does it not occur to you that you can not be trusted to choose a good man for yourself? A suitable man? Someone who will not have something so grossly wrong with him – a character flaw or a mental condition – that will make him disappoint you in the end?"

Cristina realized that she had stopped breathing, and she drew in a quick lungful of air. Patel's words were reverberating in her head, bouncing off the insides of her skull like tiny hammers, leaving painful dents in their wake. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second in an attempt to clear her thoughts, then leaned forward to catch the rest of his explanation.

"You are a very smart woman, Cristina. There has to be a part of you that recognizes how reckless you were with your own safety in this case. Is that not so?"

She shook her head. "No. I _don't_ think so. I didn't see it that way. I told you – I thought I could handle it. I wanted to be there for him. How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"It's not me you have to convince, Cristina. It's you. If you really believed this with all your heart, you wouldn't be having nightmares. Deep down, even though you keep on insisting otherwise, you are not convinced. There's a part of you that knows the truth. This part wanted to protect you, but you ignored it in order to stay in a relationship with Owen. This part doesn't trust you to choose wisely because you won't acknowledge that you put yourself in danger. This part has seen you make at least two major mistakes with men – one that was emotionally dangerous, and another that was physically dangerous. This part needs to be heard, and if you won't acknowledge it consciously, it will come out sideways when your guard is down – such as when you're sleeping."

"So let me get this straight," Cristina asked incredulously, "This whole thing isn't about me being afraid of being strangled in my sleep – it's about me putting myself in danger, and not trusting myself to choose a good man?"

"Precisely. And the nightmares are that part of you that wants to protect you, that needs to be reassured you do finally get it. The brain will do many things to protect you if you will not protect yourself."

Cristina slumped back in her chair. "Assuming you're right – and I'm not assuming that at all, Dr. Patel, because this is still way too abstract for me – how do I make them stop? The nightmares, I mean."

"Well..." Patel gave her a small smile. "...it starts with admitting the truth to yourself. Once that part of you – the part that wants you to protect yourself – is acknowledged for what it is trying to do, you will be able to move forward."

"And then?"

"And then...forgiveness."

"I need to forgive Owen? I've already done that."

"Of course you have. No, Cristina. This is not about Owen. You need to forgive yourself."

"Forgive myself? For what? I didn't do anything wrong."

"Yes," he sighed, "...you did – or at least a part of you thinks you did. You compromised your safety. You'll need to acknowledge that or you will stay stuck in this place." Patel took a deep breath and paused a moment, then continued, "I'm not judging you, Cristina. It's clear that you had good intentions for everything you did – but your subconscious can be brutally judgmental. You will not trust yourself again until you can reassure yourself that you will be more careful in the future. The only way to do that is to see where you erred and acknowledge it. Then you need to forgive yourself for choosing wrong the first time, and for putting yourself in harm's way in order to maintain this current relationship as long as you did. Once you've done that, I believe you will begin to trust yourself again – and the nightmares will stop."

Cristina stared at Patel, her brain spinning almost to the point of vertigo. Everything she'd thought about this whole situation had suddenly been turned on its head – but in a weird way, it was starting to make sense to her. If he was right, it explained why Owen's exemplary actions since the incident had done nothing to quell the nightmares. This wasn't about what he had done or was currently doing – it was about the choices _she_ had made. How could she trust herself to acknowledge and deal with future problems if she could not admit to the ones in the past?

"How do I _do_ that?" Cristina asked, "Trust and forgive myself, I mean? It sounds so new-agey and hokey. It almost makes me want to barf." She realized she was actually starting to feel a little nauseous.

Patel laughed, the lilt of it mirroring the light accent of his speech. "There's nothing new-agey about forgiveness, Cristina. Check out the bible sometime. And I don't expect you to do this by yourself. This is what we'll work on when you come to see me."

Cristina nodded. She would have to think about it. Her scientific mind had trouble acknowledging that something as nebulous as her subconscious could have such a profound impact on something as tangible as her relationship with Owen. But enough of what Patel had said rang true for her to give it a chance.

She had promised Owen, she reminded herself, and she would follow through – not only for him, but for her own peace of mind.

***

George ran his clammy hands against the soft linen of the hospital-issued bed sheets that covered him, rubbing away an imaginary wrinkle. He glanced at the clock on the wall for the umpteenth time, heart racing in anticipation. It was a rare occasion where George was both awake and alone. He had gotten used to having company, but that was before he had driven away his most constant visitor. _Idiot_.

In a way, he was glad that Izzie was gone. If she had been alive, she would have nagged him till his ear fell off. As it was, Cristina, Meredith, and Alex had already given their spot-on imitation of Izzie, calling him all kinds of a fool for driving Amanda away.

A soft knock on his door awoke him from his thoughts.

Amanda stood partially in the doorway as if ready to bolt. George could see her hesitance in entering the room, and he felt all the worse for it.

"Hey," George said tenderly as to not scare her away. He hated seeing the apprehension in her eyes and the small wince she tried to cover up, as though she had expected more words of anger. She had no idea how badly he wanted to take those words back.

"Um, your friends said that you wanted to see me?" Amanda still refused to move closer, her eyes unable to meet his for more than a few seconds at a time. She fiddled with the imaginary lint on her knit top.

"Thanks for coming," George replied.

Amanda let out a small laugh, causing George's heart to quicken – it reminded him of before, before he turned into a jerk around her. "Well, your friends can be really persuasive."

George could only imagine what Alex, Meredith, and Cristina had said to Amanda to convince her to come see him. Alex had probably gone with the gruff, "George is an idiot" route; Meredith, the "George is a great guy" and trying to excuse his brutish behavior path; and Cristina, the "you shouldn't give up so easily" tactic. Having already lost Izzie and nearly losing George had made the three of them very protective – and in this case, he actually appreciated their meddling.

"Amanda," he said, trying to catch her gaze so that she could see his sincerity, "I'm really glad you came."

Amanda nodded, finally mustering up the courage to step inside. George held his breath as hope of reconciliation flared within him.

"About before…"

"It's okay," Amanda interrupted. "You were just speaking the truth."

"No, I was being an ass. I shouldn't have taken my frustration out on you…"

"No, George, you were right."

"…I was?" George couldn't help but be disappointed. Maybe Alex had been wrong. Maybe Amanda didn't have feelings for him.

"At first, I _did _feel guilty. I barely looked at you, and you saved my life. How could I ever repay that?"

"I don't want you to—"

Amanda put a hand up. "No, let me finish. I owe you my life. That will never change. But I didn't stay all this time because I felt like I owed you. I stayed because I truly do care about you." She probably even loved him, but her pride and fear of getting her heart broken kept her from sharing that fact.

George believed her. He spent the past days without her coming up with all the reasons why he probably shouldn't trust her feelings for him, but he was tired of being cautious. He was tired of always thinking he wasn't good enough. Why wasn't it possible that she had feelings for him?

"I'm so sorry for what I said, Amanda. And I was wondering if your offer was still open…"

She paused. "My offer?" She knew what he'd meant, but she didn't want to presume anything.

"To stay with you…if you'll still have me."

Had Amanda been a vindictive person, she would have let him stew for a while before answering. But this was her Prince Charming – once again – and she couldn't bear to do such a mean thing to him.

"Yes," she replied with a smile, stepping towards the bed.

George let out a huge sigh of relief and returned her smile with a wide grin of his own. "Good." Taking her hand in his, he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb.

Amanda closed her eyes, reveling in the touch. It reminded her of all the times she'd done the same to him while he'd laid there unconscious. Tears involuntarily sprung to her eyes – she'd always been a bit of a crybaby.

George noticed. "What's wrong?" Worry laced his voice.

"Nothing," Amanda replied with a self-conscious laugh, wiping the moisture from her lids. "I'm just happy, that's all."

After a moment of comfortable silence, George finally spoke up. "I'm getting discharged today, and my friends are throwing me a party at Joe's. Do you want to come?"

"I'd love to."

"Great. I may have to meet you there. Not quite ready to use crutches yet."

"I can come get you…" Amanda began.

George shook his head. "It's okay. I have to do some paperwork first before I check out anyways. Plus, I'm sure Cristina and Meredith will already be there. Joe's is their second home."

"Okay…roomie."

***

To the unseeing eye, the bathroom appeared to be empty. However, if one were to listen they could hear the sound of papers shuffling and boxes tearing open were the only sounds audible for a few minutes, followed by the typical sounds one would expect to hear in a bathroom.

Silence fell once more, once again providing a fall sense of vacancy until–

"Shit," Cristina muttered, looking at it. "It is. It's positive. I told you."

"Are you sure?" Meredith hissed, holding up the stick and looking at it. "You're sure the two lines mean that it's positive?"

Cristina sighed, pulling it away from Meredith for the third time and looking at it. "I've taken one before. I know what positive means. I have been pregnant before."

"It's just…how could it be positive?"

"Do you want me to tell you about the birds and the bees? Seriously, Mer. You know how people get pregnant. Why is it so hard to believe that it's happened?" Cristina muttered, dropping the test into the trash.

"What are we going to do?" Meredith asked quietly, dropping another test in over it.

Cristina pulled her hair back from her shoulders, tied it up. "What else do we do? I mean…it's happened, right? We just have to deal with it."

"I still can't believe it was positive."

"It explains the puking," Cristina shrugged, actively trying not to think about it.

Meredith leaned her head back against the wall and let out another deep breath. "I can't believe…I mean… a baby? Seriously? The kid is so screwed."

"We can handle surgery. And drama with our significant others. Babies can't be that hard right?"

The tone of pagers alarming squelched Meredith's answer and the two looked at each other, took a couple seconds to bury the pregnancy tests under some toilet paper and then run out the door.

Things were about to get interesting.

***

Alex looked frantically around the pit as the interns went to work on the sudden influx of trauma's from Friday afternoon rush hour. He felt overwhelmed like he couldn't do anything for them. They'd scattered and started doing things and he didn't have ten sets of eyes to watch them all.

He cursed under his breath and went to one of the intern's sides, picking out the one he'd previously noted to be the weakest. Silently, he observed as the young woman assessed a broken bone with trembling hands.

When she mumbled a list of diagnostic exams required and treatment he didn't bother with praising her. "Then what the hell are you waiting for? You know what you're doing, Dr. Lowe. Get it done."

Anybody who knew Alex knew that it was a compliment coming from him.

Webber watched with a hint of pride as Alex flitted from bed to bed. Finally, he moved to get to work himself. One of the interns was standing at the bedside of a ventilated patient and he noted the lack of a gastric tube in place. Webber grabbed the supplies from the cart and advanced towards the patient.

"Dr. London, you forgot to place a gastric tube on this placement. All ventilated patients must have a gastric tube to decom-"

"Decompress the stomach and prevent ulceration," Dr. London finished. "Y-yes sir. Except my patient has a basilar skull fracture. If we place a nasogastric tube, the patient could end up with a gastric tube in his cranial cavity. And then Dr. Karev would kick my ass. Sir."

Webber laughed and then set the tube down. "Yes," he answered, watching Alex. "Yes he would.

***

Lexie Grey paused when she saw Mark standing at the nurses' station – then squared her shoulders and moved forward. _We are professionals _– _well,_ I'm _a professional_.

Mark looked up and nodded in greeting.

"How is the house coming along?" Lexie inquired politely.

Mark's face lit up. "I finally have the entertainment center fixed up the way I want. Karev came over and helped me finish the wiring this weekend."

She nodded again. They looked at each other – and then away. They took in deep breaths.

"This isn't working," Lexie said as Mark said, "We need to talk."

They looked at each other again and laughed.

"Sorry," he smiled as she said, "I'm sorry."

They laughed again.

"I'm, uh, thinking we've run our course," Mark said quietly.

"I noticed."

Mark raised his eyebrows.

"I've seen you talking with Sofia Moretti," Lexie said.

"Shit. I'm sorry," he said. "It's _just_ been talking, so you know."

"We've run our course," she said. "And thank you for _just_ talking with her up to now. Now you can do more than talk." She closed her clipboard. He placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Thanks for making me a better man," he smiled.

"Thanks for teaching me," she said. And she walked away.

***

Owen came out of an exam room and smiled to see Cristina and Meredith walk by. He started to follow them, intending to sneak up on them with a kiss for Cristina.

"Babies are such work," Cristina said. "They pee and they poop and scream all the time." Owen raised his eyebrows.

"But they're cute when they're not peeing and pooping and screaming," Meredith noted. "They even fall asleep for what, 15 minutes at a time? There's a lot you can do in 15 minutes."

"And then there is picking out a day care, there will be waiting lists for the very best ones. There will be nothing but the _very_ best for McBaby."

Owen's mouth fell open.

"He'll definitely want the best for McBaby," Meredith agreed. "Boy or girl, he'll be wrapped around McBaby's finger in nine months. You know it's true." They turned a corner.

Owen stopped following them and leaned against a wall. His mind was racing. _Cristina said she was on the pill _– _which is not 100% effective_. He stayed there, stunned. _I'm going to be a father_.

***

Sofia was at the nurses' station, juggling several binders, and finding herself quite frazzled. She was a brilliant and focused surgeon, but after this particularly long and complicated surgery she found herself just…tired. And it wasn't just that. She knew that Cristina Yang staking her claim on Owen Hunt in front of the hospital was getting to her. She had lost – and not only was Sofia Moretti not accustomed to losing, but she realized that this put her back right where she started. The terrible state of her personal life was something she could forget about in the OR when she was so intently focused on chest cavities and hearts. But it was that moment right after she left the room to scrub out, when she was all alone with nothing but running water and the smell of latex when she remembered that this was all she had. All she had now – and by the looks of things, all she would ever have.

Then, in spite of her better judgment, her mind drifted towards the date with Mark Sloan and how surprisingly enjoyable it had been. Maybe it wasn't time to call time of death on her personal life. Sofia leaned on the counter for a moment to rest her head on her hand, when her elbow slipped and knocked three binders to the floor.

_Fantastic_, she thought, _the cherry on top of my crap sundae. _Sofia awkwardly slid down to her knees in her black pencil skirt and heels, the clatter and the spray of papers across the floor causing quite a scene. People were in a hurry and the mess forced them to slow down.

"Sorry," she said, waving her hand to a nurse pushing someone by in a wheelchair. "I just…" She put a hand on her forehead, messing up her perfectly styled hair and took a deep breath.

"Hey, clear this out!" someone yelled at her, almost slipping on one of her papers while running off to help run a code.

"I'm working on it!" Sofia yelled back, grabbing angrily at some of her papers. A few feet away, Mark Sloan had just received his afternoon cappuccino from an overly enthusiastic intern. Hearing a familiar voice yell out in a tone that sounded like anger trying to cover frustration and defeat, he looked over to see Sofia kneeling in a mess of paperwork. He walked over with a few steps and extended his hand to her. Sofia looked up at him with a vulnerability she hadn't let him see up to his point. It disarmed him for just a moment.

"Here," Mark said, offering his hand to help her to her stand.

"I have to pick all this up. I'm blocking this side of the hallway," she said, motioning to the mess. Mark gave an exasperated sigh. Any other day, he would have been on the other side of her, probably checking out just how tight her skirt was, but he could tell Sofia was having a tough day. He felt compelled to help her, even if she wasn't interested – in him, or the help.

"Would you just get up?" There was a rare seriousness in his tone that made Sofia take his hand. Once she was standing, he promptly bent down to pick up her papers. As she watched him crawling around on the floor picking up her papers, Sofia cocked her head to the side in a bit of a stunned silence. Once he had finished and placed everything back on the counter, he felt his breath catch for a moment as Sofia reached out and brushed a dust cluster that had settled on his right shoulder.

"Thanks for the help," she managed, looking at him intently.

"You're welcome," Mark said with a smile that didn't seem to reach his eyes. "And...you know...hang in there. Hunt didn't deserve you." He gave the bottom of her chin the softest little tap upwards with his finger and turned to leave. Mark was hoping that as he walked away, Sofia would call out for him, tell him something – anything. He almost _expected _it to happen. This had to be the moment. He knew that look he had seen in her eyes. But whatever he had thought it was – it wasn't, because he didn't hear anything. Mark didn't want to look back to see if she was still there. Instead, he was resigned to the fact that his pursuit of Sofia Moretti had reached its unfortunate conclusion.

***

Cristina wandered the cafeteria with a sour look on her face. She hated getting down there after the lunch rush. The only thing ever left was an overly greasy piece of pizza, frozen lettuce or lunchmeat that had been sitting out for far too long.

Just as she was ready to give up, she felt an arm slip around her waist and a hand give her butt the slightest squeeze. She smiled faintly before turning up to look at Owen. "That could be sexual harassment y'know."

"You wanted it. I could tell by the look on your face," he answered in a low voice. "I happen to have an extra salad that I picked up."

"Oh? Trying to make sure I eat now?" Cristina asked, her eyebrows raised slightly.

"Something like that," Owen confirmed cryptically. If he was going to be a father, he wanted to make sure that she was getting enough to eat for the both of them.

"Alright," Cristina shrugged and then grabbed a bottle of water. After paying for it, she joined Owen at his lunch table and settled into the seat next to him. "I'm exhausted."

"It's to be expected."

She looked over at him in question. "It is?"

Owen silently cursed himself. He wasn't supposed to let on that he knew. She would tell him all in due time. "Well, yes. How many nights have I kept you up now?" he quickly covered.

"Not nearly enough," she answered, her exhaustion quickly fading into something else. Her foot brushed against his under the table and she grinned. "Do you really want to eat lunch right now?"

As much as Owen wanted to forego lunch in lieu of what she was suggesting instead, he knew that she had to eat. He was almost upset that he knew.

Almost.

"I have a surgery coming up. What I would do to you right now takes time," he promised her in a near growl. "Tonight. Definitely tonight."

"Whatever happened to quick and dirty?" she teased, stabbing her fork with a salad half-heartedly. Cristina could have definitely used the pick me up.

The two ate in silence for a moment before Owen finally spoke again, "So…is there something that you want to tell me?"

Cristina stopped picking through her salad and put her fork down slowly. She cleared her throat and glanced around. "What do you mean?"

"I just…I heard there might be something you wanted to tell me," Owen shrugged. "If you don't want to, if you're not ready it's fine."

After a moment of hesitation, Cristina finally reached into her pocket. "Callie is moving. She can't afford the rent anymore and she feels bad. So…she's moving."

It wasn't quite the news that Owen was looking for. "That's too bad. Are you going to be able to make it on your own there?"

"Yeah," she mumbled, playing with something in her pocket. "I'll be fine."

"It's a big place for one person," he commented. "I may have to come over and keep you warm from time to time."

Cristina glanced up at the time and decided she was overdue for an escape. This was hard enough as it was – she couldn't discuss it anymore. Not now.

Baby steps. Cristina needed baby steps.

She dropped an envelope in front of him on the table with a resounding thud and then stood up. "I have to go. I'll find you later." Her response was rushed and her tone hushed.

Owen watched with his mouth opened slightly with an unformed question lingering on his lips. He picked up the heavy envelope in front of him and opened it up. Cool metal met his fingertips and he pulled out a silver medallion keychain with the image of the Westpoint Lighthouse pressed into it.

Attached to the keychain was a key.

The key to Cristina's apartment.

***

Lexie wrapped her scarf around her neck and pulled her coat closed as she prepared to head out for George's celebration. It had been a long day, and a drink was definitely looking tempting tonight. It sure beat spending time alone in Meredith's house, shacked up in the attic reading medical journals. Or lying in bed thinking about how the men she fell for kept on moving onto other women. She was starting to feel like a way station: Alex, George, Mark – they all left her. Lexie sighed. It was a waste of time to ponder on things like that.

As if her thoughts had conjured him, Lexie caught sight of Alex in the main lobby of the hospital, leaning on the nurses' station counter. Lexie's steps slowed as she paused to decide whether or not to approach him or continue on her way to Joe's. Always the sympathetic one, Lexie changed directions and walked towards Alex. Losing Izzie had been so hard on him, and he'd been trying so hard to pick up where she'd left off in teaching the interns.

"Hey," she murmured softly, not wanting to startle him. "Aren't you going to George's party?"

Alex rested a hand on his hip, pushing aside his white lab coat to reveal his light blue scrubs, and shook his head. "Not yet. Still got some work to do," he remarked, gesturing to the notepad he'd been scribbling on.

Lexie glanced down at the paper, unable to read Alex's chicken-scratch handwriting. "What is it?"

"Just brainstorming ideas for tomorrow's intern medical challenge," he replied, refocusing his attention back to the task at hand.

Lexie took advantage of the moment and just looked at him. There was a barely noticeable gauntness in his face and the ever-present shadow of sadness in his eyes. She'd been so caught up with the Mark and Sofia business that she hadn't paid attention.

"You're doing a great job, Alex," she said. Her hand moved to touch his arm but she retracted it. They didn't have that kind of relationship. They'd never been a _real _couple – though she'd wanted it. Unfortunately, Alex had had other plans, and those plans included Ava/Rebecca at the time.

Alex surprised her by looking her in the eyes with a grateful look. "Thanks, Lexie. I'm definitely trying."

Lexie was taken aback by the man that stood before her. Yes, he was still rough around the edges and prone to angry outbursts, but he was softer now. Losing Izzie had changed him. Getting married had changed him. She could love this man.

Lexie took an inadvertent step back. She had no idea where that thought had come from. She'd literally just broken up with Mark. Now was not the time to jump right back on that boat. With Alex looking at her oddly, Lexie covered up her awkwardness with a nervous smile. "Do you need any help?"

"Don't you want to go to O'Malley's shindig?"

"Yeah… But if I help you, you can be done sooner. Then, we'll both go. I'm sure they'll be at Joe's for a while."

Alex contemplated Lexie's offer. He wasn't usually one to ask for help, but he really did want to be able to celebrate George's discharge from the hospital. "Okay," he said finally.

"Great! What can I do?" Lexie asked brightly, feeling better than she had in the past couple of weeks.

"First, I need you to…"

***

The jingle at the door to Joe's sounded once again, and Amanda shot upright in her chair, craning her neck to see who had entered. Just some other guy, not George.

Cristina turned from looking at Amanda and back to the bar where she was sitting with Meredith.

"You know what _that_ reminds me of…" Cristina started, a smirk on her face as she recalled not too long ago a particularly anxious Meredith was waiting for Derek to walk through the door to "pick her, choose her, love her."

"Yes, and like a true friend, you called me pathetic."

"Well, you were. Like a true friend, I was honest." Cristina batted her eyelashes smugly. Joe came over with two classes of clear liquid.

"You sure about this?" he asked, eyeing them. They both nodded uncertainly. "You know, unless you're both pregnant, _one_ of you can drink."

"It doesn't work like that Joe…" Meredith sighed, taking a drink of water. "Drinking is contagious." Joe shrugged and walked away. The jingle of the door sounded again and neither of them looked over.

"If drinking is contagious, maybe we should stop meeting our boyfriends at a bar…" Cristina suggested.

"Boyfriend and husband," Meredith corrected, smiling. Cristina raised her eyebrow skeptically. "Fiancé, at least," Meredith insisted.

"Fine, to meet our fiancés," Cristina repeated. Meredith's eyes grew wide as she gaped at Cristina. "No, no, no, sorry. I meant fiancé and boyfriend. _Boyfriend_," Cristina emphasized at the sight of Meredith's expression. Soon Meredith's eyes slid back to normal size, but a smirk stayed on her face.

"But we love Joe's…even if we give up drinking for nine months, we can't give up Joe's."

"Maybe if I close my eyes, I can pretend it's vodka," Cristina said hopelessly, swirling the drink around. There was a dull cheer in the background and Meredith turned to see George in a wheelchair being pushed by Olivia. He rolled to a stop by Amanda's booth and she smiled at him.

"George!" Meredith yelled, waving at him. George smiled and motioned that he would be over in a minute. He said something in Amanda's ear that made her smile and he turned to ask Olivia to help him over. Once he came to a stop, Olivia walked away to get herself a drink.

"Well look what the bus dragged in…" Cristina said, raising her glass to George.

"It feels so good to be out of the hospital…it's really no fun when you're the patient"

"Can you drink? We'll buy you something."

"No…either way, I'm too tired. I'm actually staying with Amanda for a couple weeks while I rehab." George said, a small smile growing on his face. Meredith raised her eyebrow suggestively.

"Oh god, so none of us can drink? Is this the ninth circle of hell?"

"Okay, it isn't _that_ bad. Cristina, we can do this. It's only nine months."

"Oh my god…nine months. No alcohol, yet somehow you still end up puking every morning…what kind of warped justice is that?" She took a sip of her water. "We can do this. We have to." Cristina said resolutely.

"Wait…nine months…you're…you're both pregnant?"

"Only one," Cristina said, taking another dull sip. A moment of silence passed where clearly George expected some illumination.

"Well?" he prompted.

"You're not finding out before the _father_, Georgie," Cristina said, her eyes twinkling playfully. Meredith just shook her head with a smile as she lifted their glasses for Joe to refill.

"Well, I could just see which belly is a little bigger…" he said, leaning in to examine their stomachs. However, he quickly straightened up when they both fixed him with death glares. "Alright, alright…maybe not now. But we'll all know eventually." George called over his shoulder as Olivia turned to help him go back to the booth.

"Nine months," Cristina said, sighing.

"Nine months," Meredith repeated anxiously.

"…of getting huge and no drinking and sore feet and crap…"

"This is going to suck."

"This is definitely going to suck." They paused, raised their glasses, and clinked them together.

***

"Are you okay?" Derek asked, seeing an uncharacteristic amount of nervousness in his colleague.

Owen jolted as if he had been lost in thought. "Uh, yeah…I'm fine," he muttered unconvincingly. He wasn't fine. He'd been distracted all day, ever since he'd overheard Cristina talking about babies – his baby. She was pregnant, and for some reason, she wasn't telling him.

The familiar peal of the bell that hung above the door rang in Owen's head as he and Derek walked into Joe's together to meet Cristina and Meredith. His eyes immediately scanned the various individuals, searching for the wavy mane of his ladylove – his ladylove who was currently responsible for driving him insane. Impending fatherhood was a big deal, and he needed to know.

Cristina's throaty laugh caught his attention, and he signaled Derek that he'd found the two women at the bar. He watched as Cristina and Meredith downed matching clear liquids as though they were nothing, and Owen couldn't help but feel concerned.

"Are you sure you should be doing that?" Owen asked as he reached Cristina's side, gesturing to the glass.

"What? Taking shots of water and pretending that it's my usual vodka tonic?" Cristina gave him a pointed look, unsure of how her drinking was anything new.

Owen relaxed. He should've known that Cristina wouldn't do anything to harm the baby. The baby… She still hadn't said anything. He tensed up again as he took a seat on the barstool next to hers, gesturing to Joe to bring him a beer. He was going to need it.

Next to them, Derek pecked Meredith on the cheek as he settled in beside her. "Returning to your old habits of getting drunk and picking up strange men at the bar?"

Meredith smiled. "Nope. I'm a married woman now, you know."

"Yes, you are," Derek replied with a satisfied grin, kissing her on the lips. As he drew back, he licked his lips. "Hmm… You don't taste like alcohol."

"Unfortunately, I'm stuck with water."

Joe placed Owen's beer on the counter atop of a green napkin and refilled Cristina and Meredith's glasses with more water. He paused, as if to say something, but thought better of it, moving on to his next customer.

"Don't forget vodka and cranberry…minus the vodka," Cristina interjected.

"Wait," Derek said, confused, "why are you _both _not drinking? Developed a sudden allergy to alcohol?"

"No," Meredith said slyly, winking at Cristina.

Cristina just rolled her eyes. She tipped her head back and proceeded to drink her imaginary vodka tonic.

Owen caught the exchange and couldn't stand the suspense anymore. He was done waiting for Cristina to tell him.

"Cristina," he said without preamble, "I know you're pregnant."

Cristina coughed, spraying water all over the bar.

"Hey!" Joe yelled, disgruntled over having to mop up the mess.

Still choking, Cristina could only manage a wave to convey her apology. It was Owen's fault anyways.

Owen patted Cristina on the back, regretting his choice to pick that moment to reveal what he knew.

"Congratulations!" Derek exclaimed as Meredith hid her face behind a glass as to not give anything away.

Cristina started shaking her head, laughing hysterically and coughing at the same time. When she could finally catch her breath, she turned to Owen with tears of mirth in her eyes. "_I'm _not pregnant. _Meredith _is. No McBabies for us."

Derek's jaw dropped. "What?" He couldn't have heard right. He looked back at Meredith, seeking the truth. She nodded slowly, apprehensively gauging his response.

Derek downed the shot of whiskey that Joe had placed in front of him and paused as his world shifted around him.

"Derek?" Meredith asked softly. They had already talked about babies, babies with her crappy DNA. She had been expecting shouts of joy, not this frozen stance of shock.

"We're having a baby," Derek said slowly. Saying the words out loud for the first time made it seem more real. "We're having a baby."

"I think you broke him, Mer," Cristina said with a smirk.

Suddenly, without warning, Derek shoved away from the counter, knocking down his stool in the process, and faced the entire bar. "I'm going to be a father! Drinks are on me!"

Ignoring the cheers and applause, Derek dipped Meredith in his arms, causing her to giggle, and planted a doozy of a kiss on her lips.

"Get a room," Cristina said jokingly.

Owen waited for Derek to return Meredith to an upright position before clapping the other man on the back. "Congratulations, Shepherd." Owen wasn't sure how he felt. It wasn't that he wasn't happy for the couple – he was – it was just that he had spent almost the entire day believing that it was him and Cristina who would be having a little rugrat that he almost felt like he'd lost something.

But there was one good thing that had come out of the entire confusing situation: it was that if there had ever been any doubts as to whether or not he wanted children with Cristina, there weren't any now. And seeing the unmasked look of pleasure on Cristina's face as she watched her friend's happiness, Owen could almost already hear the pitter-patter of miniature feet.

***

Sofia Moretti sat parked on a bar stool. She thought that she had been spending entirely too much time in this position lately, watching other people's lives go on around her. She saw Cristina and Meredith at the other end, laughing about something. _Whatever_. She looked at the far corner, where Mark Sloan was sitting by himself, deep in thought, staring into a mug of beer as if it held answers. She recalled the feel of her hand in his, earlier that day. _Odd thing to remember_.

She turned as the door opened. Derek and Owen walked in. They scanned the bar – and Owen's face lit up when he saw Cristina and Meredith at the bar. She watched them make their way to their respective women.

Sofia noted that it didn't bother her so much to see the way Owen made a beeline to Cristina. _Fine, they really are meant for each other_. She took another sip of her drink.

She looked again at Mark. Her body slid off of her bar stool, almost as if it had a mind of its own. She grabbed her drink and her purse and made her way over to Mark.

"Mind if I join you?"

He looked up from his drink and smiled in surprise, gesturing for her to sit. She set her things down on his table and sat down beside him. She tried to think of what to say.

"You look – different – tonight," she observed.

He shrugged. "I broke things off with my girlfriend this morning. It was civil. I'm not used to that."

She felt a queer feeling in her chest. "Are you – having second thoughts?"

He shook his head and took a drink. "No. We had fun together for a while but we ran our course. Our hearts weren't in it any more."

"Oh. Well, I'm sorry."

They sat in an uncomfortable silence. Sofia found herself observing Mark's hands. They were strong, with well-manicured nails. She liked a man who took care of himself and his appearance. Her eyes traveled upwards. _He has nice eyes_, she decided. She had seen them warm, amused, blazing with desire. Now they were subdued, contemplative – and intriguing. _What kind of man is really behind those eyes?_ She knew the answer. _The one man who has shown an interest in me._

She blushed as she realized that he was gazing back at her.

"You're staring at me," he said, with a note of surprise. It gave her a small thrill to know that she was having an effect on him.

"So?" Sofia quipped.

Mark smiled. He had absolutely no idea why Sofia was suddenly interested in his company, but he decided not to question it. _She is so fucking gorgeous right now_. She smiled back.

"Got tired of the floor show?" Mark asked, gesturing towards Owen and Cristina, his eyes fixed on hers.

"What floor show?" Sofia breathed, leaning in closer. She decided she liked the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

_"I'm going to be a father! Drinks are on me!"_ Derek Shepherd announced to the whole bar. They turned and applauded. Sofia took the opportunity to edge a little closer to Mark as he cheered and whistled.

"Okay, I didn't mean _that_ floor show," Mark laughed. He turned back to Sofia and smiled in confusion. She was giving him room to move away or pull back as her face inched towards his, but he didn't. He saw that her eyes were sparkling and could think of nothing else.

_What the hell_, she decided, opening her mouth slightly, placing her lips on his mouth. She felt him smile as he responded. Her body temperature shot up as they started kissing in earnest. Her hands came up to hold his face as his hands found their way to her waist. Her tongue met his and she made a small contented noise in the back of her throat. That tiny sound was like a lightning bolt to his groin.

"Oh _yeah_," he murmured huskily, breaking apart for air. They smiled at each other.

"You hardly know me," Mark said softly.

"You're the man who noticed me," she told him, before she kissed him again. "Now I'm noticing you."

Cristina was laughing at something Meredith said when she spotted Sofia and Mark across the bar. She nudged Owen and pointed out the game of tonsil hockey that was happening. He laughed in surprise. "I guess Mark did learn a few moves from me," he teased. Cristina rolled her eyes and elbowed him. She decided that she needed to buy Mark a drink. Or ten.

***

The crowd began to slowly dwindle at Joe's. It started with Moretti and Sloan leaving, still very attached to each other and touching each other in ways that shouldn't be carried out in public. Closely behind them, Derek and Meredith made their exit – much in the manner that Moretti and Sloan had, only a little more discreet to the unseeing eye.

As much as they were worried about what would happen with a baby around, secretly they were excited as well.

Cristina watched with softened eyes as Amanda gently guided George through the door, her hand gingerly placed on his arm. She wondered for a fleeting moment how a woman could love somebody that she barely knew, that needed so much time and attention – that had so much damage. Her eyes moved to a set of blue staring back at hers and the question answered itself.

Sometimes you just can't help it.

"You're thinking about something," Owen murmured, taking her hands in his. "Tell me."

"Just changes," she admitted quietly. "Everything has changed."

"For the better, I hope," he commented, squeezing her hand gently. His rough palms were such a contrast to her smooth skin and it was a sensation he never wanted to lose.

Cristina was something he never wanted to lose.

"Kind of."

Owen searched her face, "Only kind of? Can I make it better?"

"You could use your key," Cristina mumbled, her gaze downcast. She felt the heat rising in her cheeks and she hated herself for it.

He'd turned her into such a girl.

"That's it? Just use the key?" he asked with a tone of surprise. "Nothing more?"

"Nothing more," Cristina repeated, looking up at him. "I mean, unless you want to move in. With me. Callie is gone and the apartment is too big for just me and I–"

"You want me to move in?" Owen asked, his brow raised in surprise.

"Ye-yeah," Cristina stammered slightly. "I do."

***

"What do you have in here?" Cristina asked, struggling under the weight of the cardboard box she was carrying.

"Just my clothes. I told you that you should've let me carry it," Owen replied, carrying two boxes stacked on top of each other. He peeked to the side to see where he was going. No need for him to fall down the stairs and have to start all over again.

"Psh. I'm deceptively strong." Though in reality, her arms were screaming for her to drop the box where she stood. "Almost there," she muttered to herself, distracting herself by counting the steps.

Owen knew better than to question her, so he remained silent. Thankfully, these were the last boxes from his truck. All his furniture was in storage, to be unpacked and dealt with another day.

"Finally," Cristina breathed, dropping the box with a resounding thud. Leaning down, she slid the box the rest of the way. Once she reached her bedroom, she stood back up and let her arms hang by her side, feeling the circulation return to her arms.

Owen carefully balanced his own boxes on top of the one she had just set down and placed his hands on his hips. Moved in... At one point, he never would have believed that they could have come this far. But even with the proof in front of his eyes, he nearly had to pinch himself to keep from thinking that it was all a dream. Reality set in and a niggling doubt crept into his thoughts.

"Cristina… Are you sure about me moving in here?"

"Uh, yeah. I keyed you, didn't I?"

"No, I meant. Are you sure about me moving in _here_," he repeated, gesturing to emphasize her bedroom.

Cristina walked over to Owen so that she was facing him and loosely wrapped her arms around his waist. "No more sleeping in separate beds or separate rooms. And if one of us is having a bad night, we still have the spare room… You were right."

Owen rested his hands on the curve of her back, feeling the muscles expand and contract with each breath. "About what?"

"Therapy was a good idea…" she muttered, stringing the words together as fast as she can. She paused for a beat. "But don't go telling Wyatt that. I cannot _stand_ that woman."

Owen chuckled from deep within his chest and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, causing Cristina to sigh with pleasure. And there they stood, perfectly content to be in each other's arms. Cristina rested her head on Owen's shoulder as they swayed slightly to an imaginary song only they could hear, their bodies molded together in a flawless fit.

After a moment, Cristina let out an involuntary yawn. Sensing her exhaustion, Owen eased himself away from her, just enough to help her out of her jeans. Cristina sleepily let Owen undress her and carry her over to her bed, _their_ bed. Depositing her gently onto the mattress, Owen tugged the covers over her before working on taking his own jeans off. Stripped down to his shorts and boxers, he laid down next to her, adjusting the blankets around them.

Cristina immediately scooted backwards so that her body curved with his, her back to his front, and pulled his arm around her so that he was embracing her. Interlacing her fingers with his, she rested their joined hands on her stomach and let out a little hum of satisfaction before settling deeper into the pillow.

"I love you, Owen," she whispered sleepily.

"I love you, too," he whispered back, though she was already too far gone to hear him.

He stroked her fingers with his thumb in a soothing motion and thought about the ring that he planned to place on one particular finger of hers…one day. The ring that was now hidden deep within his box of kitchen appliances. His grandmother's ring – given to him by his mother with a knowing smile and a prideful hug. It was a simple and plain ring, no muss, no fuss – just the type of ring he knew would suit Cristina.

His mother had been right about Cristina being the one who'd end up wearing his grandmother's ring. But then again, mothers did always know best.

Drifting off to sleep himself, he thought back to his first couple therapy sessions and how he'd told Wyatt that he felt shameful. But those days of darkness were far behind him. Now… now, he was thankful. For the woman who saw him when no one else could, who stuck by him in his time of need, who completed him as any soul mate should. He was thankful for another chance… Another chance to be a part of her life, to dream of a future together… to feel _alive _again.

_Eleanor Roosevelt once said to do one thing every day that scares you. Maybe it's something simple – like jumping into the pool on a hot day. Maybe it's something not so simple – like letting down your guard, opening your heart and extending a key that could open up an entirely different set of issues. Chances are, even if you're scared, if it's something that you want? It's totally worth taking the leap._


End file.
